


Kiss it, Make it Better

by Daydreaming_Scribe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s12e20 Twigs and Twine and Tasha Banes, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Episode: s12e20 Twigs and Twine and Tasha Banes, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-17 21:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14197812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daydreaming_Scribe/pseuds/Daydreaming_Scribe
Summary: Jody and Donna call Sam up for help on a case in Iowa. He jumps at the opportunity, ready to get out of the stifling atmosphere of the Bunker. Once he gets there, however, he makes a surprising discovery. Set right after The Scorpion and the Frog.





	1. Discovery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [themegalosaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/themegalosaurus/gifts).



> Yes, I know, I’m terrible. I have two unfinished fics which I haven’t updated in almost 2 years, and instead of working on them, I’m posting a completely unrelated story. I promise that I want to get back to [And With But a Single Word](https://archiveofourown.org/series/325640) and [The Final Arc](https://archiveofourown.org/series/310332), but I’m facing the worst writer’s block on both. But after over a year and a half of taking a breather from writing and the show, I’m not really happy with the products I have so far. I promise that they’re not abandoned, but right now I find it hard to continue with them because I find my writing to be cringeworthy.
> 
> On another note, come and appreciate this other story I wrote! (And actually finished). It’s a fix-it of sorts for Twigs, Twine and Tasha Banes that is canonically right after The Scorpion and the Frog (13x08), about Sam and the Banes twins. Because whenever I think I’m done with Supernatural, a cute minor character to ship with Sam will drag me back. Written mostly because I think the Banes story deserves more closure than it got, and probably ever will get knowing the writers. And because Sam and Max are cute, and damnit, my tall son and his witch boyfriend and said boyfriend’s sister deserve happiness. 
> 
> Thanks to my three lovely Betas, [EruthiawenLuin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EruthiawenLuin), [unforgvnsam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unforgvnsam/pseuds/unforgvnsam), and [librarianknight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/librarianknight). Special thanks in particular to librarianknight for the art!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jody calls Sam up for help on a case. Sam reflects on all that’s happened in the past few months on the way there.

It’s Jody who calls him up about the hunt. Pretty straightforward, as hunts go – five people missing in a small town an hour outside Cedar Rapids, all within the last two years. The only link between these disappearances is the unidentified plant found growing around each vic’s neighborhood. It’s not the first time this has happened, either: five other recorded disappearances, each marked by the appearance of a strange plant, have occurred sporadically throughout the last two centuries or so, going all the way back to before Iowa was even part of the Union. The culprit’s probably a witch, or some kind of pagan.

In all honesty, Jody and Donna don’t need Sam as backup on the case. They’re just asking for his help as a sort of pseudo-expert in botany. The sooner Sam can ID the plant overrunning this town, the sooner Jody and Donna can hunt down whatever’s responsible for the disappearances. He says yes almost immediately, and asks Dean if he wants to join him before packing up. The case’s details grab his older brother’s interest at first. The minute Dean hears the words _‘botany’_ and _‘plant identification’_ , however, he gives a hard pass.

“I’ll keep working on finding the kid, see if Cas has anything yet.” He grunts, looking at the numerous reports strewn across the table. “We need to make sure that Colonel Sanders or the Winged Douchebags don’t get their hands on him.” That’s the main reason Sam accepted Jody’s offer so quickly. Jack running away was a low point, for all of them. It’s hard imagining how panicked Jack must be feeling right now.

“Yeah, course.” Sam says. “About that – Dean, are you sure you don’t want me to stay and help? I mean, Jody made it sound like this wasn’t a big deal and I kinda feel bad leaving you here like this, man –”

“Nah, go ahead.” Dean smirks, waving him off dismissively. “If I find anything big, I’ll call you. This town’s 5, 6 hours away at the most. You probably need some fresh air. Just,” he raises a warning hand. “Do not take Baby.”

“Oh my god.” Sam doesn’t even refrain from rolling his eyes.

“I’m serious, Sammy.”

“Yeah, I’m leaving at like 3 in the morning, so I’m gonna head to bed. Goodnight.”

“Don’t take Baby, Sammy.” His brother shouts as Sam walks away.

“ _Goodnight_ , Dean.”

* * *

Sam’s alarm wakes him up at 2:30, leaving him enough time to get dressed and down some of the pre-made coffee, pouring what’s left into two thermoses. He leaves on one of the motorcycles in the Bunker’s garage. He and Dean rarely use them, or any other car in here except the Impala. Because even after who knows how many years of being shot at or stabbed or tossed across the room, Dean still has a near-erotic fixation with the car. Not that Sam doesn’t understand – it’s the closest thing to a home he’s had his entire life. At least, the only one that doesn’t have some sad ending, like Kermit or Stanford. It has a sort of permanence that nothing else around them does, not even the people. Hell, the Impala will probably outlive them both.

Still though, the motorcycle’s a better choice than any of the cars. He hasn’t ridden one since that afternoon in the Junkyard, when Bobby was doing some repairs after about six glasses of Bourbon. He’s missed this, wind howling around him as he shoots down the dimly-lit road.

Sam’s glad to be out of the stifling atmosphere of the bunker. Even though Dean’s made it home, it doesn’t have the safety he wants. Maybe that’s for the best, because if history has any say in the matter, a safe home has always been an elusive hope more than anything else. Having a home when you’re a Winchester is a trap, apparently. A way of signaling to the universe that you’re ready to be on the receiving side of an endless wave of trauma. And boy, does the Bunker have its share of trauma. It’s always a joy passing through the halls and thinking back on all the memories – _Hey, Sammy, this is where you killed that twenty-year-old. You know, the one you already failed once before when you left him to be tortured by the King of Hell…. Oh, over there is where Big Brother almost bludgeoned you to death with a hammer, that was fun…. Man, if only you could name the numerous places in here where you’ve been a hairsbreadth from one of you various rapists and forced to cooperate with them._

Yeah, all in all, it’s probably best he goes out for a hunt. The Bunker can make him stir-crazy during his waking hours, and even without the pressure of finding Jack, and the grief from losing Mom again, Sam would be absurdly lucky to get four hours of peaceful sleep a night.

The whole Jack situation hasn’t been easy. Sam had been working hard to help him, because yeah, he could completely relate to feeling imperfect and unclean and evil, but more importantly because Jack was a person, with feelings and concerns. Being practically a newborn and literally the only one of his kind also made the Nephilim pretty isolated by default. Feeling isolated and the fear of being alone have been historically strong motivators for making rash and destructive decisions, at least in Sam’s experience. He’s destroyed the world enough times to know that.

So, sue him, he got close to Jack. Even though it was probably the worst idea in the history of bad ideas to get close to the nigh-omnipotent son of the being that had filled over 5 millennia of Sam’s existence with torture. But dissociating Jack from Lucifer was easy, at least most of the time. His eagerness and naivety made him more like Castiel, when the angel was first becoming acquainted with humanity (though Jack was a lot less moody). There was the odd time, though. When those eyes lit with power, or when Jack became angry. That would always press at the button in his hindbrain labeled _‘Primal Fear’_. And like that, Sam was sent hurtling back to the Cage and pain and the constant broken pleas of _I’m sorry, Lucifer, I love you, Lucifer, I don’t deserve you, Lucifer._

In the argument they had with Jack before he left, Sam had been the one to flinch, and he’s certain he didn’t imagine Jack’s eyes lingering on him when the Nephilim said that he was going to end up hurting them if he stayed. And isn’t that a bitter irony – Sam talked a big game about making Jack feel welcome and wanted as a person, and tried connecting with him. But the minute push came to shove, Dean and Castiel had been the ones to comfort him, while Sam literally withdrew in terror.

Course, he should’ve seen it coming. Sam’s never been good at connecting with the people around him, no matter how many similarities they’ve shared. Most of that has been Sam’s fault as well. Even though he’d thrown the whole _‘Mom would always come to you’_ spiel at Mia’s, he made the decision on his own to distance himself from her. It wasn’t like he’d expected her to come back from the dead after 30 years and play Mommy to two emotionally wounded older men. ~~Wasn’t like he expected her to snuggle up to the thing that got her killed.~~

It was like that with many of the people they’d met. Kevin had been a carbon-copy of Sam after Stanford, what with the ruined prospects of an Ivy League education, a dead girlfriend and no chance of living normally ever again. Yet they never really got close. Sam should be able to relate to Claire, sharing the same stubborn youthfulness and the whole being-possessed, yet she’s gotten along better with the brother who only _sometimes_ believes in informed consent when it comes to possession. And Charlie – Hell, Charlie had willingly kept secrets from him just on Dean’s say-so, but he had to literally beg her to help him do the same with Dean, in order to try and remove the Mark. The same Mark that had driven Dean to nearly beat her to death.

The only three people he really connected with in the past two years, besides Jack, had been Eileen and the Baneses, and look how that turned out. Eileen and him had mainly kept in contact through video chats, but they only met face-to-face a grand total of two times before he was looking down at her corpse. And his second encounter with the twins? It ended with him cradling Alicia as she died, and Max losing the two most important people in his life in a single day, unlikely to ever want to see the Winchesters again. Specifically the one who watched what was left of their mother drive a knife deep into his twin’s stomach. Sam had been so incompetent that he couldn’t fight off those twig constructs long enough to help Alicia realize that her mother was dead, and the thing wearing her face was about to kill them.

He’d liked the twins, ever since they met at Asa’s funeral. Shutting down that other hunter’s prying about Lucifer made them go up in his books immediately. To have that kind of solidarity from other hunters, an unexpected sensitivity, was nice. Of course, the twins’ personalities had been reason enough to enjoy their company. Alicia had been all laughs and smiles and gentle teasing. In the few conversations they’d had together, she and Sam were able to talk about pushy siblings and family expectations and what a pain in the ass it all was.

And Max –

A part of Sam still isn’t sure whether Max had been flirting with him at Asa’s funeral. It was definitely weird to pick up guys at your own father’s wake, but Sam’s still not exactly sure whether the twins considered Asa their dad or just the guy who knocked up their mom. Regardless of Max’s intentions, Sam had spent the weeks after they’d met thinking of the witch’s honey-colored eyes and coy smile at random moments – sitting shotgun in the Impala on the way to a case, hunched over a book in the bunker’s Library (and maybe late at night under the covers of his bed or during really long showers, but that was no one’s business).  Hell, Sam hadn’t even been sure whether Max was interested in guys at all until he admitted to getting that bartender’s phone number. And at that point, Sam had been too busy hiding how let down he was that Max wasn’t as interested in him as he’d previously thought.

Maybe it would’ve been easier, if Sam had been outright and told Max that he liked him. Every one of Sam’s _almost_ -connections could’ve happened if he had just been open about who he was. Maybe if he had told Kevin about his own past, told Claire about his own experiences with possession, told Charlie that he wished he had half her courage to be open about who he was, and not be a closet case at 33 ( _5,033?_ ) years old, he could’ve been as close to them as Dean was.

He wonders, from time to time, if Charlie had known. About Tyson and all those quick-and-dirties with other guys when he was at Stanford or running around without a soul. She’d read the books that were supposed to contain every detail of their lives, but apparently her major takeaways were that Dean was the hero who saved the world and Sam was prone for having girlfriends that were either evil or dead or both, so maybe they weren’t as reliable as she’d claimed. Maybe she _had_ known, and was mocking him for it when she talked about his “terrible luck with the ladies”. It’s a pretty flimsy theory, he has to admit. Charlie had never seemed like the person to shame someone for not being out yet. Maybe she was trying to let him know that she was in on his secret, waiting for him to talk about it with her or with Dean whenever he felt ready.

Not like any of it matters now, though. Charlie’s dead, Kevin’s dead, any connection he had with Max is dead, and he sees no real reason to come out to Dean. He just desperately needs a quick and easy hunt right now. Something he can fix..

Sam gets off I-80 right before Cedar Rapids at around 8:30, eventually reaching the diner Jody told him to meet her and Donna at. He catches sight of the parked sheriff's car, Jody and Donna leaning against it. A few parking spots away is a hauntingly familiar Jeep, though Sam can’t quite place where he’s seen it before. Parking the motorcycle next to the police car, he tugs off his helmet and places it in the attachable trunk, alongside a variety of weapons and a few botany books he’d decided to bring along.

“Hey, Jody. Long time.” He wraps the Sheriff into a one-armed hug and places a kiss on her cheek. “Where are the girls?”

“Dead to the world in the motel room.” She says dryly. “Claire wanted to jump on this hunt, as long as it was after 1 PM. Alex had nothing to do, so she tagged along. But she’s staying far away from any hunting.” Her smile turns sad, and she shoots him a sympathetic look. “Still haven’t found anything yet on your mom, or your friend Jack?” Sam swallows, trying to shrug it off.

“Well...” He tries to think of something normal people say when they want to politely shut down a conversation. “Haven’t given up hope yet.” _Can’t give up what you never had to start with, Sammy,_ a voice whispers in the back of his mind. Thankfully, Jody seems to buy it, because she’s all smiles.

“Good. That’s good.” She pats his cheek gently.

“Hey, don’t hog all the hugs there, Jodes.” Donna teases. Sam releases Jody and accepts the arms of the blonde sheriff, who gives him a significantly stronger hug. “Never been on a hunt this large. Seven people should make things mighty easier.”

“Seven?” Sam frowns, turning back to Jody. “Dean and Cas are still working on finding Jack, so I don’t think they’ll be making it.” Jody smiles, shaking her head.

“Yeah, we didn’t plan on all three of you coming. I got some extra help just in case.”

“Glad to know we’re a last resort, then.” A voice behind them muses. Sam freezes, recognizing the teasing tone immediately. The reason the Jeep looked so familiar becomes startlingly clear. When paired with the voice it’s not hard putting two and two together. Sam’s heart drops into the pit of his stomach. _Oh, no._

“You remember the twins, right?” Sam turns around to see Alicia giving him a huge smile. And right behind her is Max, horror flooding his face as he locks eyes with Sam.


	2. Twenty Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Max take a lovely stroll through the woods. Sam confronts Max, Max comes clean. Sam reveals some secrets of his own.

Breakfast is an awkward affair for everyone. Both Sam and Max are absent from the conversation, the younger man going so far as to avoid making eye contact with anyone, especially Sam. Jody, Donna and Alicia _(kind-of-Alicia)_ pick up on the tension between the two men and valiantly try to keep them focused on the case.

Sam keeps his eye on the ex-dead huntress throughout the meal. The twig construct, or whatever Alicia is now, doesn’t seem to have any murderous tendencies towards him. Whatever memories she has floating around in her head must not include him standing and watching like a hapless moron as she died, otherwise she would’ve probably driven a knife into his stomach by now.

Then again, maybe he’s got it all wrong. Maybe Max found a way to bring her back without turning her into one of those things. She seems human enough. She felt human, all soft and warm and gentle, when she pulled Sam into a hug. All in all, Alicia is remarkably unchanged: same hairstyle, same clothes, same smile, same scents of sandalwood and lavender clinging to her.

But there are other things he can’t avoid noticing. Like how she’s spent the last half-hour moving food around her plate with a fork, without ever lifting some to her mouth. Or how one hand is wrapped tightly around her coffee mug, even though she hasn’t taken a sip. Maybe how she seems well-rested and calm, yet her brother’s face is clearly a mix of fear and exhaustion. Or maybe, just maybe, the fact that she doesn’t have a giant hole in her stomach.

“So,” Jody says, promptly derailing his train of thought, “these are the leaves we’ve found in each of the vics’ neighborhoods.” She places a baggie full of a few stray plant stems in the middle of the table. “Was wondering if you three have any input. We know that you two probably have endless experience with this kind of stuff.” She says, glancing at the twins.

“Not exactly.” Kind-of-Alicia says. “I’m probably useless at this. Magic’s never been my thing, never tried to force it.” She turns to her brother (or is it her creator?). “Yo, any input? I’ve never heard you go five minutes without talking.” Max shifts in his chair, clearing his throat.

“Doesn’t look like anything you can use for spellwork.” He rumbles, the normally smooth bass of his voice scratchy from disuse. “I’d say whatever left it’s probably not a witch.” The younger man’s eyes dart up nervously, meeting Sam’s briefly before looking away again.

“Sam?” Jody asks. He stretches out an arm to grab the bag off the table, jostling the leaves around slightly. They look familiar enough, though it takes him a while to remember from where. It usually wouldn’t take this long, but Sam didn’t expect to encounter his sort-of-crush and said sort-of-crush’s reanimated sister. After about a minute, Sam remembers where he’s seen this plant before. He vaguely recalls scanning through the bunker’s archives, and taking about three hours to look through one specific botany compendium, _Flora and the Fiends They Foretell_ . Sam gives a measured sigh, running a hand through his hair. _Well, so much for an easy hunt._

“Dryad, I’m guessing.” He says. “These are a variety that supposedly went extinct around the time the Ottoman Empire occupied Greece, but they pop up wherever Dryads are nesting.”

“Dryads?” Donna asks. “Those funny forest ladies?” Sam gives a nod. “Ever fight one?”

“Nope. Never met a hunter who has, either. From what the lore says, it’s better not to fight them at all.” He explains. “They’re projections of the forest they live in, and a Dryad can split her soul apart and place the pieces in a few of the trees in her respective forest. To kill one, you need to cut down all the trees she tethered her soul to, but we don’t know how to distinguish them from the normal trees, and she’d definitely sense us chopping away at her soul. We’d probably have to burn down the entire forest just to be sure we’ve killed her, and that’s assuming there’s only one.” He hopes to God it’s one. A forest full of unkillable human-snatching nature spirits is a nightmare just waiting to happen.

“What about the people she’s already taken?” Jody asks, cocking her head to one side.

“We’d have to look at the case files, but I’m sure that she had a motive for targeting the people.” Not that Sam can think of any, as he thumbs through the missing person files on the five most recent vics. They’re an eclectic bunch, to be sure. Ranging from seventeen to seventy, male and female. All have different jobs, from a local college professor to a bartender to a babysitter. Two, a housewife and a retired naval officer, don’t work at all. “I’m sure we can convince her to let them go on a few conditions. Worst comes to worst, we have to find a spell that makes her go dormant.” Donna, Jody and Alicia seem somewhat complacent, though not completely convinced. Max doesn’t react at all. Glancing at the other man, Sam suddenly feels a plan formulating in his head. “What if we split up? The three of you try and look through the spell books I brought and review the case files of the vics. Max and I’ll scout the forest.” Alicia looks significantly less enthusiastic, but she still nods along with the two sheriffs.

Max looks close to vomiting.

* * *

They walk out of the diner in silence, not looking at each other. The two of them are by Alicia’s Jeep when Sam grabs Max by the arm.

“Please tell me you didn’t.” He begs. The younger man doesn’t meet his eyes, but Sam can see his mouth trembling. “Max.” The witch jerks his arm free, but not before Sam gets a flash of the Borrower’s ring. “Oh, God, Max.”

“Get in the car.” Max says, not willing to meet his glance. Hesitantly, Sam climbs into the passenger seat as Max turns the key in the ignition. They’re out of the diner parking lot before the other three can even wave goodbye. The two of them sit in silence as Max speeds down the road. Sam knows better than to try and start a conversation, so he pulls out a notepad and the case files, trying to determine a pattern among the victims. He looks at each case file, and the tidbits Jody’s added in, considering the relevant info before marking it down on the notepad:

_Rose Baumann, 45, Single, College Professor, Ex-Peace Corps………George Katsaros, 70, Widowed, Ex-Navy, fishes in spare time…Hannah Jones-Li, 17, Dating, High School, Prom Queen, Student Body President…..Michael Erikson, 30, Single, Bartender, ‘Town Drunk’..…Anne Taylor, 52, Married, Housewife._

There’s no pattern whatsoever. The other five victims don’t offer any visible connection either – the most recent disappearance before they started up again occurring in 2000, and the earliest on record happening before the Civil War, when Iowa was still an unincorporated territory. None of the bodies were ever found. They’re even more diverse than the victims within the last two years, ranging from a woman suspected of being a runaway slave to a wealthy man affiliated with many members of the criminal underworld in Cedar Rapids. And Sam’s still left with no clue of what the Dryad might want with these people.

Eventually, Max pulls over by the side of the road that heads into endless forest, pulling the keys out of the ignition before getting out of the car. Sam slowly follows him, circling around to the other side where Max is pulling some things out of the backseat.

“Does she know?” Sam asks. There isn’t any judgement in his tone. At least, he doesn’t think there is, because he has no room to judge Max. Not after all the fucked-up shit he’s done for Dean, and vice versa. It doesn’t matter, though, because a snarl escapes Max’s mouth and a hand pins Sam to the side of the Jeep.

“You’re not going to say anything to her.” Max growls, eyes burning violet. It’s not a spell, nothing but a display of power. Doesn’t matter though, because he’s suddenly cold, freezing beyond belief.

 _Please, Lucifer._ He begs. _Please don’t, I’ll be good, please –_

“… –am? Sam!? Sam!”

He’s still against the side of the Jeep, Max now shaking him violently. Looking up, he gazes into the witch’s eyes. Golden, now, instead of violet, and filled with fear.

“I didn’t –” Sam shakes him off, waving his hand in a gesture he hopes comes off as dismissive, rather than angry.

“It’s fine,” He grumbles. It’s far from fine, they both know that, but Sam’s already alienated one person he cares about this month by showing too much fear. His legs are trembling, and if Max lets him go, he’ll probably fall face-first to the ground. He reaches out a hand and Max pulls Sam closer. He almost does fall, but the witch thankfully steadies him with a hand to his chest. The younger hunter looks on the verge of tears, and _shit,_ how many kinds of awful is Sam that he’s brought Max to crying.

“I wasn’t trying to – I just –”

“Max, you didn’t mean it. It’s okay.” He says, opening whichever door of the Jeep he’s closest to just so he can sit down and calm his rapidly-pounding heart.

“It’s not _okay_ , Sam!” The younger man shouts, pulling away from him. “I just, I didn’t know what to do. Alicia and Mom were dead and I –”

“I’m not going to be the one to tell her, Max.” Sam affirms, wincing mentally when he notices how his voice cracks. “It’s not my job.” This doesn’t convince Max, who’s shaking his head and looking nervously down at Sam.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to –”

“ _Max_.” Sam reaches out an arm, steadying the other hunter’s shoulder. “Just calm down, take a deep breath.” Max pauses, before obeying and inhaling deeply. It’s not too effective – his lips are still trembling and his eyes are still watery – but at least he isn’t crying, which is good enough for now. Sam steadies his grip on the younger man. “It’s just you and me.” He says, as slowly and evenly as possible. “No one saw, no one got hurt, no one needs to know. I just wanted to talk.” Sam doesn’t break eye contact, tries to not even blink. Rising shakily to his feet, he closes the car door and makes his way into the forest. Max slowly trails after him.

* * *

 “What does she remember?” He asks after a few minutes, keeping a steady pace beside Max. The witch shoots him another worried glance.

“Not much.” He answers, shrugging his shoulders. “I had to tell her that we were too late to save Mom. That the two of you had found the body, and that the thing that fooled us was a construct made by the Borrower Witch.”

“And after?”

“After that we killed the Borrower, not before Alicia got hurt really bad, and I sent you two on your way before she could wake up.” Twigs snap underfoot as they fall deeper and deeper into the sea of endless trees. “That language you were speaking. Before.” _When he had you pinned against the car and was half-ready to kill you, at least before you were reminded of me. Guess you have a type, Sammy._ The question’s obvious enough, and even though he’d rather not answer, he owes it to Max to be honest.

“Enochian. It’s the language the angels use. For spells and sigils and stuff.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Max’s jaw clench. Yeah, this isn’t what he’d originally had in mind when he thought of spending time getting to know Max better, but it’ll have to suffice. “How similar is she to the other dolls? Does she, like, obey your commands?”

“I asked her to not call you two, or your mom. She seems to have listened.” There’s a pause, and Max exhales. “I haven’t exactly been probing very deeply, you know. I didn’t want a puppet. I just wanted my sister.” Sam offers a nod of sympathy. “I heard about your mom, by the way. I’m sorry.”

The rumor floating around the hunting community is that his mom disappeared shortly after the fight against the Men of Letters. It’s stretching the truth by a lot, but even among hunters the truth about the Winchesters is sometimes too much. It’s also the closest to a compromise he and Dean can get to, because even after all of Dean’s insistence that he needs Sam to “keep believing for both of us”, he doubts that Mary is still alive, wherever she is.

Sam knows Lucifer far too well to consider he might grant her such a mercy as death.

“Thanks… How’ve you two been dealing?” The witch’s face scrunches in confusion. “With your mom. I know things can’t be easy, especially with both her and your dad gone. I don’t know how close you were with Asa, but your mom must have been hard to lose. Especially with all the stuff happening with Alicia –”

“Nothing’s happening with Alicia.” Max snaps, turning away. “She’s fine. We’re fine. There haven’t been any issues.” That’s a lie. Alicia may look as healthy as ever, but Sam can see endless dark rings of sleep deprivation around Max’s bloodshot eyes. It’s hard to tell, but the witch also looks much skinnier than the last time they saw each other. His good looks haven’t vanished, not by a long shot, but he doesn’t have that same glow he exuded in their earlier meetings. Sam doesn’t challenge him, letting the conversation lapse into silence as they trudge onward through the woods. Max is the one who speaks up. “It’s been – hard, I guess. Our mom was always there for us when we were kids. She taught me everything about magic. Maybe if she was still here, I wouldn’t have….” He trails off.

“Yeah, I get it. Once all your family’s gone, it’s easy to go off the rails.” Sam says, nodding. Max gives a derisive snort.

“What would you know about it?” He winces almost immediately. “I’m sorry. That was really shitty to say. I forgot that you and Dean only have each other now that your mom’s gone.” Sam comes to a halt, looking back at the witch. His face must be indiscernible, because Max frowns and cocks his head. “What?”

“Max, my mom was dead for most of my life.”

“Wait,” Blinking, the other hunter turns to him. “What? You wanna run that by me again?”

“You didn’t think it was weird how close in age she was to us?” Sam asks, raising an eyebrow. “Your grandma even mentioned that Mary should have been as old as she is.”

“I figured she looked good for her age!” He splutters, looking bewildered. “It was weird, sure, but it wasn’t my business to ask, man!”

“I mean, she was 29 when she died, so –”

“Okay, back up.” The witch holds up a hand. “Your mom was brought back to life.”

“Last year.” Those amber eyes blink, becoming seemingly more puzzled by the minute.

“How long had she been...” He trails off, clearly not wanting to be rude but still eyeing Sam with curiosity.

“Since I was 6 months old.” Sam doesn’t want to go into more details than he has to. In his mind, he’s already planning out what to tell the younger man in the hopes that it can sway him a little bit. Max might be less prone to listen if he knows that the advice is coming from an Abomination, so Sam decides to opt out of bringing up the demon blood. “Dying and coming back is kind of a family trait, you could say.” Those pink lips purse, the witch deep in thought.

“So, all those stories about you guys dying are –”

“Not so much part of the legends as they are the truth. Dean’s died a lot more times than I have, but I’ve had a couple run-ins of my own. Course, neither of us have been dead for _decades_. Mom’s unique that way. Apart from her dad – he was back for a while before her, not really the Grandpa type. And I guess our other grandfather also got displaced in time, kind of. We got to meet him for a bit.” Max is steadying himself against a tree, resting a hand atop his head like he’s trying to stop the information from bursting out of his brain. Sam sympathizes wholeheartedly with the gesture; their lives are probably mind-numbingly ridiculous from an outsider’s perspective. Would probably be mind-numbingly ridiculous from an insider’s perspective, too, if he and Dean weren’t so emotionally damaged that they can barely grieve for their long list of dead family and friends, much less process their own deaths.

“So, you’ve done things.” Max finally says, his voice rumbling lowly. “To keep Dean around.”

“Horrible things.” Sam gives an affirmative nod. “So, I understand. There’s always that need, to do anything for someone you love.”

The younger man slumps to the ground, leaning against the tree. His expression is so defeated that every bone in Sam’s body is screaming to hug him. Of course, hugging Max wouldn’t be an entirely selfless gesture, so he refrains from doing so. Instead, he just plops down beside the witch. The tree they’re propped against is wide enough that they can be pretty much sit shoulder to shoulder. He spares a glance towards the younger man, who doesn’t really seem ready to talk yet.

“The thing is, these things are horrible enough when you’re making choices for yourself. Demon deals and stuff like that is something no one can take away from you, because that all factors into your own free will. And sure, you might be hurting someone with those decisions, and disrespecting their wishes, but the choices are still yours to make. But making decisions for the people you love? About their free will? That’s selfish, and it’s cruel.” Max’s knees are drawn to his chest, and he’s slumping downward, like he’s trying to collapse in on himself. Sam feels beyond shitty, but he can’t stop halfway.

“I’ve been possessed. More times than anyone I know – easily in the top 10 for ‘Most Times Possessed’, given how possession victims end up afterwards.” Max looks nauseous at this point, and he probably already knows where Sam’s heading. “And I can tell you it sucks. It sucks being locked inside your own body, forced to watch as someone – _something_ does whatever they want with your limbs and your mouth and your voice and everything else. And normal possession is nothing compared to Lucifer.” Max sucks in a breath beside him, probably remembering the short-lived conversation with Elvis at Asa’s funeral. Sam’s shivering now, even though the weather barely merits a jacket.

“Point is, my opinion on possession is pretty clear. Didn’t stop Dean from helping an angel hijack me so that he could use my body for a few months.” Sam tries to keep the bitterness out of his tone, but he really can’t help it. Even the thought of Gadreel still makes his blood run cold, despite the layers he always wears. “I was dying, and he was trying to keep me alive. I get why he did what he did. But he knew how I felt about possession, knew I was ready to move on, and decided to trick me and lie to me, for months. And it ended with the angel locking me inside my head and going on a homicidal rampage, killing people so he could somehow redeem himself. He made me kill my friend.” Kevin’s face pops unbidden into his mind, eyes burnt out and screams echoing in his ears.

Sam’s tried to move past it, for Dean’s sake, and because it had been abundantly clear that none of their friends had cared about Dean’s role in violating his autonomy as much as they cared about how Sam had hurt Dean emotionally by calling him out on it. He’s had to convince himself that he’s okay with what Dean did, _because he did it for you, Sammy, and what kind of ungrateful bastard are you that you don’t appreciate all the sacrifices Dean’s made for you,_ and also frankly because whenever he voices his discontent with the choices Dean makes for both of them, it drives his brother to make even stupider decisions. Like taking the Mark of Cain without heeding the warning so clearly offered to him _._ In all honesty, he _is_ appreciative that Gadreel helped them in the end, just like he grew to appreciate Meg for all she’d done. But none of that erases the nightmares he still wakes up from, the ones that never let him forget what they did with his body.

“I love my brother.” He says. “More than I’ve ever loved any other person, or ever will. But after that, I wanted to run so badly. In that moment, I hated him so much for not caring enough to think about what I wanted.” Sam can see Max’s jaw clench and his knuckles whiten, and when they meet each other’s gaze, those deep golden eyes are heavy with misery. “He tried to convince me that I was okay with it, and even if I wasn’t, I should’ve been. Except I wasn’t okay with it. Not then, not now. Probably never will be.” He pauses, before gently reaching out to rest a hand on Max’s knee. “Bottom line, I’m not going to tell Alicia. But I think you should. She deserves to know. And she deserves to hear it from you.” There’s a long pause, and the silence is filled with the chirps of wildlife around them and the rustle of branches in the wind.

“She’ll hate me.” Max eventually says, his voice cracked and dried out. “If I tell her what I did, she won’t ever look at me the same.” Sam tries to think of how to counter his statement, which is difficult considering he just admitted to resenting Dean for Gadreel.

“Maybe.” He admits, patting Max’s knee. “And yeah, it sucks. But she might appreciate it more if you tell her outright.” The younger man makes a pained noise, covering his face with his hands.

“What if she leaves?” The older hunter isn’t sure what he means by leaving – maybe he’s afraid his sister will pack her things and go. Maybe he’s afraid she’ll burn herself on a pyre and undo the magic keeping her soul bound in a twig construct.

“It’s Alicia’s choice to make, Max.” The younger man’s shoulders tremble, and it’s so vulnerable and pitiful that Sam’s brain yells _fuck it_ as he brings Max in for a hug. It’s definitely an awkward gesture, given that they’re practically strangers and maneuvering like this when seated up against a tree is uncomfortable. He knows it’s the right call, though, when Max’s arms tighten around his midriff and the witch’s body sinks into his. The other man rests his head in the crook of Sam’s shoulder and doesn’t move. They stay that way for a while, and Sam’s shoulder becomes progressively wetter, Max making little more than soft whimpers every so often.

When he finally lifts his head up, Max’s eyes are almost as pink as his lips, his nose snotty and his face soaking wet. But his expression is determined, and more relaxed than it’s been all day. He wipes his face clean with the sleeve of his shirt, giving a sniff and nodding.

“I’ll tell her.” He affirms, deep voice shot to hell. “When we get back, I’ll take her aside and tell her. Let her decide.”

Sam rises to his feet, Max following after. The younger man pauses to give him a second, stronger hug, before letting go and giving him a little distance. It’s a bit after noon, and the wind is strong, making the trees around them tremble and sway. Other than that, however, the woods have fallen silent, no bird cries and no animal chatters. Sam looks toward the direction that they’d come from, trying to get a visual of the Jeep, but they’re too far deep into the forest. Strange, considering how small the woods seem to be from the outside. Sam suddenly feels a prickling sensation running down his spine, and he swears that there’s hushed whisperings coming from all around them.

“Sam?” Max calls out, frowning slightly. “This might sound crazy, but these woods are freaking me out.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks, tensing. He shoots a glance towards Max, before following his gaze to rest on a rather swollen oak tree a dozen yards ahead. Max moves a few paces forward, muttering something under his breath and stretching out an arm. His eyes turn violet, and a glowing orb shoots from his palm. The ball of light lazily floats towards the gigantic tree, swerving at the last second to avoid colliding with it, and disappears from sight as it moves further away. Sam turns to Max, and is tempted to ask what the spell was for. He stills, however, when he sees the orb reappear at Max’s side, arriving from the opposite direction of where it’d been sent.

“We have to go.” Max says, eyes wide and panicking. “Now!” He reaches out and takes hold of Sam’s shoulder, his free hand suddenly alight with fire.

“ _You’re too late_.” A woman’s voice laughs, echoing all around them. There’s a gust of wind, carrying with it the rustling of branches and leaves, before a loud crack catches Sam’s attention. He looks up to see the enormous tree over them in a free fall, and barely has time to shout “Run!” to Max before he’s surrounded by darkness.


	3. Apotheosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max and Sam come face to face with the Dryad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the main chapter with violence. May be triggering to some - be warned.

The Dryad is much smaller than Sam anticipated. At scarcely five feet, she doesn’t strike him as an ancient nature spirit. In fact, she’s how he’d expect an ancient Grecian to look like – tanned olive skin and ringlets of dark long hair. Her smile is as wide and bright as a child’s, but the corners of her mouth and eyes are lined with endless crow’s feet, and her cheeks are rough and leathery from being exposed to the sun. She’s dressed in a chiton that looks like it’s been patched together from scraps of old clothing.

His and Max’s shirts are probably going to get woven into her next chiton. Seeing that she saw fit to remove their upper layers before binding their arms and legs with vines and placing them practically on top of one another against the wall. He’s glad she at least let them their jeans. He’d prefer that any situation where that the two of them are naked together be consensual, not the result of being forcibly stripped by a crazy Hellenic forest monster.

Max’s head slumps against his shoulder. _Forcibly stripped naked by a crazy Hellenic forest monster while one of us is unconscious,_ Sam amends. This scenario is already so far out of his comfort zone. He barely needs to close his eyes to see a smug expression and hear the cocky _was it good for you?_ Even if it makes him sadistic or misogynistic or whatever, he’s not exactly heartbroken that Ketch slit Toni’s throat and bled her dry like a pig. The only thing keeping Sam from drowning in memories of her and Lucifer is the hope that the Dryad’s intentions aren’t sexual. That, and the dagger he can still feel strapped high up on his thigh. He isn’t completely convinced by the first one, however. Those haunting green eyes are fixated on the pair of them like a wolf when it stalks deer. Or Dean, when he’s busy leering at a slice of pie or the waitress in whatever diner they’re holed up in.

“I have to say, you’re quite a catch.” She says, walking towards them. “I was intent on getting Handsome here, but I didn’t anticipate you.” Sam shifts in his binds, nudging Max slightly to rouse him. After the first few tries, the witch wakes up, lifting his head from Sam’s shoulder.

“What the hell?” Max groans, blinking slightly. “Where are we?” The Dryad’s lair seems to be the interior of a gigantic tree, probably the one they saw earlier. It’s not very large, probably 10 feet wide at the most, the only light streaming in from a narrow entrance on the far side, but it’s enough that they might have a way of running past the forest spirit. Or, they _would_ have a way of running past her, if their prison wasn’t made of wood and they weren’t so deep into her territory that they had no possible way of escaping.

“You’re here to complete the ritual, my dears.” The Dryad smiles. “And none too soon. I’ve been waiting for nearly two centuries to finish it.”

“The other people, where are they?” Sam asks, looking intently at the Nymph. Her green eyes flicker, illuminating for a second as she peals with laughter. Holding up her arms, she spins slightly.

“Everywhere.” Glancing around the room, Sam feels his stomach drop. The walls of the lair are bumpy and made of bark, resembling a tree’s exterior more than anything else. On closer inspection, some of the bumps in the walls are eerily formed, seeming almost too deliberate to be accidental. There’s a shape in the bark to the left of Sam that looks like a set of toes. On Max’s right, a set of handprints protrude outward from the wall. Across the room is a face, caught mid-scream, as if it had been flash-frozen in wood. “It was effort, picking them all out and managing to get them alone so I could snatch them up. Planning, waiting for a hundred and eighty years – but, all in all, worth it for the ritual.”

“What ritual?” Max growls, sitting up a little straighter. “You don’t need sacrifices – you’re a nymph, not a pagan.” The Dryad shoots him a haughty look.

“Pagan’s a rather simple term, dear.” She tuts, green eyes rolling. “It’s such a catch-all, and you humans insist on using it even where it doesn’t fit. It’s dirty, and inaccurate, and groups too many things together. Not all ‘Pagans’ need sacrifices to endure – the Olympians, for example, are just fine and dandy on their own.”

“Why are you different, then?” Sam shoots back.

“Not all of these entities start out the same way. Some, like Zeus and his ilk, have always been as they are now – fearsome and powerful and godly. However, if you follow lore closely enough, you’ll notice that other deities were originally not worshipped as such.” Her eyes glimmer again. “Some started out as just being nature spirits.”

“You’re trying to deify yourself.” Max says, eyes wide in realization. The spirit laughs, nodding her head.

“Precisely. This ritual’s an old one, written in a tongue even most nymphs don’t understand, but it’s simply enough – Twelve human souls, at the least, each with sufficient enough qualities to represent one of the Twelve Olympian Gods, are sacrificed to the source of a Nymph’s power. Once the final sacrifice is made, the Nymph destroys the place where she made the sacrifices. Her power’s then generated from within, and she’ll be like unto a goddess.”

“We’re in your heart, then. You made a few trees fuse together, and put a part of your soul inside each of them.” Sam concludes, looking around at the bark walls.

“Very good – you’re a smart cookie.” She nods, impressed. “Yes, you’ve caught me. I might not be powerful as other gods, but I can make these trees do whatever I want. Hence this neat little room and its,” the dryad brushes a hand over the face frozen in wood. “decorum.”

“So you’re the Lorax, but with a God complex and homicidal tendencies.” Max snarks. “Maybe you should try yoga, take the edge off. In any case, you don’t get to act all victorious now. You’re two sacrifices short on the ritual. Unless you’re trying to tell us that the two of us match personalities with one of the gods you have left. My mythology’s shaky, but I don’t remember there being a Gay Witch God or a Sexy Wisdom God in the Pantheon.” Goddamnit, Sam shouldn’t be getting flustered at that comment like some blushing virgin, not in the middle of a kidnapping by some insane wannabe-deity.

“The ritual’s imprecise on what deems a soul the ideal match for a respective god.” The Dryad admits. “There are some things that can’t be avoided: a virgin and an academic for Athena – that spinster professor fit the bill. A hedonist for Dionysus – like that alcoholic bartender. For Queen Hera, a woman of the home, her husband being the only man known to her – the silly doting housewife. Familial bonds aren’t stressed too much, which is a relief. It’d be impossible to find people with as much incestuous heritage as the Olympians.  It’s taken me a long time to gather enough people as it is. So, relationships are ignored in favor of personality traits, with a single exception. The most important bond between any two Olympians.” Sam feels Max stiffen beside him, and knows the witch has come to the same conclusion as he has. “The Huntress and the Healer, Artemis and Apollo.” She holds up two fingers. “Twins.”

“Alicia isn’t here.” Max challenges, struggling in his bonds. “She doesn’t know where we are.”

“She’s at the edge of the forest with your little entourage right now, and she’s going to find you with ease thanks to your phones’ tracking features.” The nature spirit counters. She withdraws both of their cells from her chiton, flashing them as if to prove a point, before tossing them on the ground beside her.

“She’ll come ready to fight.” The Dryad gives another high laugh.

“You were no match for me, and you’re a witch of Natural Affinity. Your sister’s pathetic imitation of a life is being held together by your magic and wood shavings.” Max glares, to which the nymph sneers. “Oh, please. My sight may not extend far, but nothing in the area surrounding my forest escapes my gaze. Not a better spy in this town than me, or my name isn’t Menodice.”

“Why take the effort with the ritual?” Sam asks suddenly. “I get the power boost, and not being bound to the forest, but you’re making yourself an easier target – I saw someone kill Zeus a few years ago. Took a lot less effort than finding a few trees and burning them.”

“So I wait for someone to cut down every last tree in the forest?” The Dryad demands. “Or maybe I don’t have to wait. I may not see what happens in the outside world, but I can feel the Earth slowly dying. Eventually it won’t matter if humans cut them down or not – the trees will die by themselves. I’m content to wait out eternity on a dead planet, as long as I’m here to endure.” She gives Sam a wide smile. “Got to say, though, you’re quite the unexpected bonus, Handsome. I already have the twelve souls, but yours is a strong one. Brightest I’ve ever seen.” Lucifer told him the same thing in the Cage, how even demon blood couldn’t dim his soul. Menodice walks toward them, predatory smile widening. “I think I’d like a little touch, before the ritual is finished.” Sam’s backing against the bark wall, pushing away from the Dryad’s outstretched hand as much as he can.

A shriek leaves her lips, and the nature spirit recoils in agony. Sam’s panting hard, more than a little panicked, but he still takes notice of the enormous burn running up her arm. Except instead of blistering flesh or an angry welt, it’s smoldering wood, ash-white and glowing with orange embers. The Dryad looks up from the wound, her face seething with rage. Beside Sam, the last of a conjured flame extinguishes in Max’s hand, and the floor on his other side is scorched black.

“You should probably reconsider.” The witch snarks. “Seeing as you were dumb enough to bring us into your life source, and I can burn it to the ground.”

“I’ll kill you first, you insolent little – ” Menodice’s cut off mid-snarl, suddenly grasping her hand. A long gash is running across her palm, oozing a dark fluid. Then, another gash appears alongside it. And another.

“ _Max!_ ” They hear Alicia call. “Sam! Hold on!” The Dryad snarls, stalking toward the narrow opening on the far side of the room. She only makes it halfway before another fire is summoned beneath Max’s fingers, incinerating a larger portion of the floor and wall behind him. Menodice cries out, the burn on her arm spreading wider and wider. With a tug, Max breaks free of his bindings and struggles to his feet.

“Alicia! Get back!” He shouts. A column of flame sprouts from his hand and coats a portion of the wall close to the narrow opening. Sam manages to break free of the the vines tying his own hands and legs, just as the Dryad gives another scream, this one reverberating throughout the tree. Her eyes are burning green, with a hand and part of an arm burnt away to nothing. Gone is the lecherous expression she’d been giving the two of them earlier, rapidly giving way to murderous fury.

“Sam, come on!” Looking past the injured Dryad, Sam sees Max exit through the gaping hole he made in the tree. His legs suddenly spring into action and he follows the witch through the still-burning cavity in the bark. Max and Alicia are caught in each other’s arms on the other side. Behind them, Jody, Donna, and Claire carry armfuls of axes.

“You look like you’ve had some fun.” Alicia jokes, earning a snort from Max as she pulls away from the embrace.

“Yeah, getting tied up by a Psycho forest woman’s my idea of a good time.” He drawls, turning back to face the tree. “Maybe next time you can join in on our fun.”

“Let’s deal with the psycho forest woman first, and you two can have your guy-time later.” His twin bites back, just as Menodice emerges from the tree.

There’s no doubting the Dryad’s inhuman nature now. Her eyes are completely green, glittering like emeralds in the afternoon sun. Large chunks of her flesh are gone, replaced with smoldering white bark. One arm has burnt off entirely, only a black stump at the shoulder remaining.

“You’re not going anywhere.” She snarls, lunging forward. A wave of her hand rips a root from the soil, sending Max flying. Alicia screams her brother’s name as he collides with a nearby tree and crumples to the ground. “I won’t be denied what is mine.” Sam grabs a spare axe from Jody and heads straight for the Dryad. He doesn’t make it far – another gesture from Menodice brings a branch low enough to make impact with his chest and knock him back a few yards. Donna and Jody make it to the Dryad’s tree, driving their own axes deep into the bark beside the gaping hole Max made. Dark stains blossom across the Dryad’s tattered chiton, as she grabs at her chest in pain. The victory’s short-lived, of course. Menodice shoots a glance back to her tree, and an enormous branch plummets onto the two sheriffs’ heads.

Sam and Claire charge the Dryad from different sides. The teenager reaches her first, embedding her axe into Menodice’s side before receiving a harsh punch to the shoulder and falling to the ground. Sam stops a dozen feet short, using all his momentum to send his own hatchet flying. It soars far above the Dryad’s head, making a satisfying crunch as it lands deeply into the top of her enormous tree. A new wound crosses Menodice’s face as she looks back at Sam, leaking that same dark amber. She’s on top of him in a flash, wrapping her remaining hand around his throat with a strength belied by her stature.

“I won’t be denied what is mine.” She growls again. “I think I’ll get those twins first, and maybe I’ll keep you around for fun.”

“You’re not getting anyone, lady.” Alicia growls from behind the Dryad. Her axe comes down, the metal singing as it cuts through the air. The sound stops abruptly before the axe can make contact with flesh. The fingers around Sam’s throat tighten further, and a low chuckle leaves the Dryad’s mouth.

“That’s adorable, dear.” Menodice coos, turning to face Alicia. “Were you trying to hit me?” The hunter is frozen, axe just inches from the Dryad. Menodice tuts in disappointment. “Twigs and twine, dear. You’re held together by nothing but twigs and twine.” A few yards away, Claire stirs and begins to crawl toward a leftover axe. The Dryad gives her a fleeting glance, before staring into Alicia’s petrified eyes. “Take care of her, will you?”

Menodice tilts her head in the direction of Claire, and Alicia’s body gives a violent jerk. She begins marching towards the younger girl, axe raised high. Each step she takes is like that of a puppet on a string, stiff and lurching. Claire manages to rise to her feet, looking on at the rapidly approaching hunter.

“Alicia, what are you – ” She halts mid-sentence, ducking just in time to avoid getting decapitated. “Alicia, snap out of it!” Only Alicia’s face remains under her own control, showing the fear inside.

“I can’t!” She cries, swinging yet again at the younger woman. “I can’t move!” Claire lifts her axe, blocking the blow from Alicia’s own. At the base of Menodice’s tree, Jody and Donna are stirring slowly. Max is still motionless several yards away. Sam snarls and squirms in the Dryad’s chokehold, struggling to get free and help Claire. But the fingers around his neck are rooted firmly. He inches back toward the tree behind him. Sam feels the dagger hidden in his jeans rub its cool metal against his flesh as he presses against the bark. His captor sneers.

“You’re not going anywhere, handsome.” She says. “I’m stronger than you. The puppet is going to knock off your hunter buddies one by one, and the two of us are going to watch it happen.”

Claire’s holding her own against Alicia, parrying each swing that comes her way. She’s losing fast, however. The Dryad is puppeting Alicia’s movements with the intent to kill, while Claire’s only trying to defend herself from a fatal blow. Eventually the older hunter gets an opportunity, driving her weapon down hard. Claire barely has time to lift the handle of her own axe. It’s just enough to protect her head, but it snaps the handle in two and sends her sprawling back.

“Claire!” Jody shouts, finally on her feet with a gun in hand. Claire holds the two broken halves of her axe tightly as Alicia looms over her. A shot rings out, and Alicia stumbles slightly, continuing in a limp. Several more fire in succession, these ones ending dangerously close to Sam. Menodice grunts in annoyance as a bullet grazes her, loosening her hold on Sam and turning to Alicia.

“Kill the girl, then take –” The Dryad’s cut off abruptly, staggering backward. The handle of Sam’s dagger gleams in the light of post-midday, embedded beneath her chin. Sam takes advantage of the Nymph’s distraction and darts toward where Max still lays motionless.

“Max!” He shouts, falling to his knees by the witch and jostling his shoulder. “Max, we need you to get up, man.” Menodice’s managed to pull the dagger free of her mouth, slowly approaching them with the amber-coated blade in hand. Her commands clearly don’t need to be spoken to Alicia, because the resurrected hunter is still swinging with all the might in her constructed body. Claire uses the two broken halves of her axe to stab at the assailant while avoiding being hit by Alicia’s blows as best she can. Jody and Donna run to the teenager’s aid, abandoning the task of chopping down the Dryad’s tree. “Max, Alicia’s in danger – the Dryad’s using her, we need you to burn down the tree!” The young man gives a soft groan “Max! Max, come on – !”

Sam’s airway cuts off. Gasping, he reaches for his throat. The thing around his neck tightens at a touch, hauling him off the ground. Sam grunts and kicks as his oxygen diminishes. Eyes skimming the forest around him, he fights against the suffocation, forcing his body downward with all his might. He’s rapidly growing dizzy, desperate for one of the others to cut him free. But Max still lies prone beneath him, and the rest are trying to subdue Alicia.

“Shame.” The scowling Dryad looks up at him. “You could’ve just given up.” Sam kicks harder, trying to swing toward the trunk of the tree he’s hanging from. His vision gets progressively darker, and his entire body is numbed from an overwhelming coldness.

An unearthly wail pierces his mind. Sam gasps as his entire front lights up in pain. Air and the scent of dirt rapidly fill his lungs, and he realizes he’s pressed against the ground. A hand grabs his side, tugging him upward. His body’s too pained from the drop and numb from oxygen deprivation for him to struggle against the person holding him, so he just slumps in their grasp. The acrid scent of smoke fills his nose, the chill that overwhelmed him before fading fast and replaced by warmth.

“… – Sam? Sam!?!” He opens his eyes, greeted by a panicked Max. “Sam! You with me?” The witch jostles him slightly, his tone sharper. Sam nods sluggishly, groaning at the pain in his neck. “It’s okay, Sam. We got her.” He scans the scene around them, resting his gaze on a roaring inferno. The Dryad’s nowhere in sight.

Well, not entirely true. A few yards in front of them is a charred lump, roughly the size of a human. Looking closer, Sam can see its face frozen in a gruesome expression of pain. A squeeze at his sides has Sam glancing back to Max, whose own face is measured with tiredness.

“You okay?” He asks. The witch snorts, the corners of his mouth lifting up.

“You just were choked, tossed, and hanged by a forest spirit. I think I should be asking you that.” Max says, honey-colored eyes raking over Sam. They go wide, and he’s suddenly jabbed in the side, pain shooting through him. “Shit, that looks really bad.” Sam looks down to see a long gash across his ribs, blood trickling slowly from it. “Let me heal that.” Sam grabs Max’s free hand.

“It’s fine for now. Let’s just make sure none of the others needs it more.” Max gives him a worried look, but just tightens his grip on Sam as they slowly make their way across the clearing to where the rest of them are. Alicia’s looking a little worse for wear, seated up against a tree and rubbing her temples and stomach like she’s suffering from the world’s worst hangover and belly ache at the same time. Other than that, the rest of the group only has scratches and bruises. Of course, the number of times they all got knocked around will probably mean more than a few concussions, but they’ll worry about that later.

“Leesh, you okay?” Max asks. His twin gives a chuckle, lazily flicking an eye open.

“Feel like I got hit by an eighteen-wheeler.” She quips, tilting to one side. “I’ll live, I think.” A grimace flashes across her face. “Can’t understand what happened. I was ready to cut Poison Ivy into pieces, then I couldn’t move a muscle.” The arm holding Sam up tightens around him, and he and Max meet eyes briefly before turning back to her. “I mean, it makes no sense. None of the lore we’ve read on nymphs says anything about mind control.” Sam clears his throat.

“The lore’s obscure enough as it is.” He points out. “Some myths in Greek mythology talked about nymphs luring people into their lairs. It’s not such a stretch to think mind control would be in their power.” Max’s fingers are digging into his side now. Sam feels terrible, lying to Alicia, but he can’t risk telling the truth in front of the others.

“Would make sense how she was able to get all those people.” Jody adds, dropping the remaining axes into a large bag laid out on the ground. “Did you figure out what she was doing with them?”

“Ritual. Alicia and I were the last two sacrifices she needed.” Max explained. “She nabbed us when we weren’t prepared, and her plan was to lure Alicia in so she could turn herself into a god.” They all go silent.

“Fun, fun.” His twin chuckles nervously. “Here I thought you two were off having sex. Glad I was wrong. Might’ve kicked your asses if you’d made me panic for no reason.” Sam flushes, suddenly feeling far too close to Max. The fact that they’re missing their upper layers probably doesn’t help Alicia’s suspicion. Unfortunately, the shirts and jackets they’d been wearing are probably still in the Dryad’s tree, burnt to a crisp by now alongside their phones.

“I’m offended.” Max says, accepting Jody’s jacket and slipping it over one shoulder. “Do you know me to go off to have sex and leave you to do all the work in the middle of a hunt?” Alicia gives her brother a pointed look. “That one time outside Portland doesn’t count. And no, we didn’t have sex, for your information. Sam here can verify we only lost our shirts after we got knocked unconscious. I was a complete and utter gentleman.” He and Donna help ease Sam into Donna’s jacket, which is ludicrously tiny on Sam but still by far the closest fit. Sam’s pretty sure his face is as red as a brick. Thankfully, Donna’s also blushing fiercely. Jody and Claire, on the other hand, seem more amused than embarrassed by the twin banter.

“I’m glad to hear you haven’t taken advantage of this poor guy yet.” Alicia snickers. Wincing, she slowly pushes herself to her feet. “I was afraid you’d ruined another set of perfectly good hunting partners by flirting too much with them after Rock River.” The light in Max’s smile dims like the sun behind a cloud, but no one besides Sam takes notice. “I’ll let you two ‘gentlemen’ have the room tonight if you want. I’m hitting the bar.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Jody asks, walking over to the younger hunter. “Looks like you’re in a lot of pain, Alicia. Alex is waiting in the car, we should probably get back and drive you to the ER.” Alicia shakes her head, placing a hand on her stomach.

“I’m totally fine, Jody – it’s probably the stupid Dryad Magic running its course or something.”

“I’m with Jody on this, actually.” Claire says. Her gaze is locked around Alicia’s stomach. “Even with the stick part of the axe, I know I got a few good hits in. I swear I stabbed you at one point, Dude.”

“That’s ridiculous, Claire.” Alicia laughs, lifting the edges of her shirt. “See, no bleeding, just a couple bruises.” As she looks down, the laughing cuts off into a shriek.

On her stomach is a large, deep puncture.

Alicia places a trembling hand against the wound and pushes a probing finger inward. The hand is removed, clean as it was when she pushed it in. A second, and then a third go back, each time free of blood.

“Oh my god.” Alicia whispers, lifting her shirt up higher. “Oh my god.”

“Alicia?” Jody takes a few steps towards her. The sheriff has the demeanor of someone approaching a wild animal, stretching out an arm. The second it touches Alicia’s shoulder, she jerks back as if burned with a brand.

“Get away from me!” She snarls, backing away from them. She resumes poking her wound, making distressed sounds. “Oh my god. What the fuck?”

“Alicia.” The name is layered with hurt and heartbreak. Glancing to Max, Sam can see tears welling up in his eyes. Slipping from under Sam’s shoulder, he approaches his terrified sister. “Leesh, relax. Don’t move.” The woman’s face suddenly goes slack, expressionless eyes staring straight ahead. She doesn’t back away, or move at all, when his hand comes to rest on her side. The witch’s eyes glow violet for a moment as he brushes over the wound. The cut is covered when his hand lifts away. Sealed from the inside with twig. In the next instant, Alicia snaps out of her trance, shrieking and retreating from Max. She looks down to her sealed injury, then back up into her brother’s eyes, bewildered.

“Max?” At his name, her brother looks off to one side. “Max.” Alicia repeats, trying to meet his gaze. She shakes his shoulder. “Max!” He finally looks back to her, tears running down his face.

“Alicia.” His voice cracks. His sister places a hand on his shoulder before he falls to his knees. “Alicia, I’m so sorry.” Alicia stiffens, looking down at her brother in fear. “I’m so, so sorry, Alicia.” He reaches out to his sister. She flinches away from his grasp. Max breaks, tears streaming down his face as sobs begin to wrack his body. “Please, Alicia. Please, forgive me.”

“Max.” Alicia says, voice filling with horror. “Max, what have you done?” Max only cries harder, covering his face. “Max,” she repeats, louder. “What did you do?!”


	4. Repentance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Alicia have a heart to heart, and Alicia asks for insight.

Seeing Jody and Donna and the girls off is by no means an easy process. Sam managed to convince them to give the Baneses some time to themselves. They’ve trekked out to the roadside where Sam and Max had parked with Jody and Donna holding him up on either side. Claire’s seated next to Alex in the back of Jody’s police car, not far from Alicia’s Jeep. Donna’s packing up the trunk, and a very concerned Jody is trying to reason with Sam.

“I don’t think you should be going back in.” She insists, voice measured with exhaustion. “You’re not really in the condition to be doing anything but rest.” Sam shrugs off her statement. Smiling softly, he places a hand on his friend’s shoulder

“Max said he’ll heal me when I get back to where they are. It’s only 3:30 now, and it shouldn’t be too hard to find the clearing.” What with the smoke trails from the inferno standing out against the bright blue sky. Sam will be shocked if the forest rangers or local sheriffs don’t get there before he does. Jody gives a worried look.

“About that…” She trails off slightly. “What if something happens?” Before Sam can counter her, she adds on. “I know you’re not afraid, Sam, but I think you should be. Max’s a hunter, but he’s also a witch. Using Dark Magic. And he has Alicia under his control right now. If he turns against you, it’s two against one. And you’re in no condition to fight back.”

“Max is a good guy, Jody.” Sam says. “He had the chance to off me earlier.” At her puzzled expression, he explains. “I confronted him about Alicia when we were scouting the forest. But he promised that he was going to tell Alicia anyways. He just didn’t get the chance.” The sheriff blinks.

“Confronted him?” She questions. Her eyes narrow in realization. “That’s why you two were acting strange before. You knew the whole time.” Sam nods, mentally preparing himself as he senses Jody’s rising irritation. “And you didn’t say anything? Alicia tried to kill us! What if that had happened earlier, huh?”

“The Dryad controlling her body tried to kill you.” He points out, promptly rewarded with another glare. “And I didn’t tell you because I wanted to talk to Max, and I thought he’d feel less threatened if less people knew.” Jody’s ready to protest again, but he cuts her off. “Jody, please trust me on this. Max isn’t a bad person. He just wants his sister safe.” The sheriff gives a final pleading look. With a sigh, she pulls him into a hug.

“Be safe,” she whispers. “Don’t do anything stupid.” Sam laughs, hugging her back tightly.

“Yes, Ma’am.” He promises. The sheriff doesn’t look remotely convinced, but she’s soon in the police car with the others. Sam waves till the car is a small speck on the horizon. He then moves to the motorcycle, parked beside the Jeep courtesy of Alicia. Popping open the portable trunk, he withdraws one of the spare shirts and the extra jacket. He puts on the clothing, placing Donna’s lent jacket in the trunk. After a moment’s hesitation, two handhelds come out as well.

Closing the trunk, he makes his way back into the clearing. The forest isn’t nearly as mazelike as before. He never loses track of where he’s heading from, nor the route he’d taken making his way out with Jody and the others. Sam walks alone for some time in silence, the only noises being the birds in the trees and his own footfalls as he makes his way deeper and deeper into the forest. Eventually, however, voices reach his ears. Ones that are clearly arguing. As he gets closer and closer to the clearing, he can make out what they’re saying.

“I can’t believe you’ve been letting me walk around like a complete idiot for months.” The clearing comes into view. Alicia’s back is to him, but Max’s face is in view. His expression is beyond shattered.

“I didn’t want you to freak out.” He counters. Alicia’s laugh in response is filled with hysteria.

“Freak out, yeah, why would I freak out? You only cut my heart out of my dead body and used the magic that killed Mom to bring me back to life.”

“Leesh –”

“No! Don’t!” Alicia yells. “This is dark magic. It’s six layers of wrong. Mom – ” She breaks off, hands covering her face. “Jesus Christ, Max, Mom taught you better than this!”

“Mom’s dead, Alicia!” Max is suddenly right in front of his sister’s face. “Mom’s dead, and you were dead, and I had no one!”

“So, what, that gives you the right to make me your puppet?” Max falls silent once more.

“I just wanted you back.” He whispers. Alicia stills, leaving the twins staring at each other. Sam clears his throat, grabbing the twins’ attention. He jerks his head in the direction of the still-burning tree.

“Max, you’re probably the only one that can put that out. It should be a pretty straight walk back to the Jeep.  We’ll meet you back at there.” The two of them stare at him. Max is panting, still out of breath from arguing with his sister. After a slight hesitation, Alicia approaches, walking past him and heading in the direction he just came from. Sam looks back to Max. The man’s golden eyes are bloodshot, his cheeks stained with from still-falling tears. He slowly approaches Sam, and the older hunter hides a flinch as Max places a hand on his injured side. The witch’s eyes briefly glow a gentle violet, hand warming against Sam’s flesh. When Max lifts his hand, the wound has faded to a tiny scar. Sam gives the dejected witch a smile, hoping to relay whatever comfort he can in it. “It’s gonna be okay. We’ll wait for you.” Turning from the devastated witch, Sam jogs as fast as he can to catch up to Alicia. He finally reaches her, and falls into an even pace at her side. They walk in an uncomfortable silence for some time, and Sam can feel her beady black eyes trained on him.

“How long have you known?” The question’s what Sam expected, but the biting tone catches him by surprise. A glance confirms Alicia’s glaring at him. “You’ve been tense ever since you first saw me. And Max has been careful making sure we haven’t had any more contact with you since Rock River.”

“I found out this morning.” He says. “Dean thought Max might use the Borrower Witch’s ring, but I didn’t actually know until this morning.” The woman considers his words.

“You knew I was dead, then. You just didn’t know what Max had done.” Sam nods. “And the time you two had alone scouting?”

“I just wanted to talk to him, find out the truth. And convince him to tell you the truth.” Alicia rolls her eyes. “He was going to tell you. At least he promised to.” She doesn’t respond to that. “I had faith that he would tell you. Or, hoped he would, I guess.”

“You hoped he wouldn’t use the ring, either.” She sneers. “Maybe Max isn’t as trustworthy as you thought he was.” There’s no mistaking the bitterness in her tone. Whether towards him or her brother or the situation in general, he can’t be sure. “You trusted him to do the right thing, and I’ve been walking around as a twig monster for months because you thought wrong. Wouldn’t have killed you to check up on Max if you cared so much about him. About us.” Sam’s brow furrows. Her anger is definitely directed toward him, no mistaking it. Which is fair, he deserves, but he certainly didn’t expect her to be angry at him over this.

“I watched you get stabbed, Alicia.” He reminds her. “I was too weak to help you. Pretty sure the last person Max wanted to hear from was the idiot who got his sister killed.” Alicia comes to a halt, gaping at him. Sam winces. “I’m sorry. I forgot you….” He trails off, deciding it’s smarter to not say ‘I forgot you don’t remember dying’. To his relief, Alicia just shakes it off.

“No, it’s fine.” She says, rubbing her temples. “I mean, you’ve told me more in five minutes then Max has in months. Can’t complain too much, can I?” Alicia continues walking. If she’s much closer to Sam than before, he doesn’t think it’s enough of an issue to comment on. “If Max had reached out to you, would you have kept in contact with him?” Sam frowns at the bizarre question, and the even more bizarre shift in Alicia’s tone from angry to conversational.

“Of course.” He says. “I mean, if he needed help.” They’re almost out of the forest now, the Jeep in sight. “Why do you want to know?” Alicia shrugs, making her way over to the car and leaning against the side of it.

“Curiosity.” Sam quirks an eyebrow, staring at her inscrutable expression. “You don’t agree with him bringing me back either, do you? You were horrified to see me.”

“It’s not that, Alicia.” He says. “I’m happy you’re alive and everything.” The answer is an almost hysterical laugh.

“Do I look alive, Sam? You heard that Dryad – I’m a stick figure.” To prove her point, Alicia flashes her stomach, poking at the wound sealed by twigs. “You know, I’ve been trying to figure out why I’ve been off since Rock River.” At Sam’s shocked expression, she rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on. I’m not an idiot. I haven’t cried about Mom. Like, at all. The woman who gave birth to us and raised us is dead, and I haven’t been able to shed a single tear over it. I hid it from Max, didn’t want him stressing out more. He hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in months, he barely eats. The brother who chased after any guy who seemed remotely into him has pretty much become a monk. I’ve been so afraid of him thinking that I was emotionally damaged, or some kind of monster.” She gives an empty laugh. “Guess he already knew.”

“Alicia –”

“Don’t try and defend him, Sam.” Alicia snaps. “I know that you want to make me feel better, but I just need someone to be on my side. I haven’t cried at all, I haven’t had or wanted sex, I can’t get drunk no matter how hard I try, and believe me, I’ve tried. I haven’t really eaten or slept in God knows how long, and it hasn’t affected me in the slightest. I’m a monster. Or, not human. Or alive. The least you can do is admit that Max made me this way.”  She has a point. Sam gave her brother a whole monologue about his own experiences and how Alicia has the right to make her own decisions. He can’t exactly switch it up now. 

“You’re right.” He says, exhaling sharply. “Max shouldn’t have done what he did.” Alicia relaxes somewhat, not content but not as angry as she was less than a minute ago. “What are you going to do now?”

“Does it matter?” She asks. “Max apparently has the right to make every decision for me now that I’m his puppet.”

“He promised me he’d tell you the truth and let you decide for yourself.” She doesn’t look too convinced by the sentiment, eyebrows raised. “And even though you already know, I’ll hold Max to his promise on allowing you to make your own choices.” Alicia blinks, gaping at him in shock.

“Uh... thanks, I guess.” They fall back into an awkward silence. The trail of smoke has died down by now. Max is probably making his way back to them. They’ve got nothing to do but talk. Or, you know, avoid talking.

“I was half-ready to come to Kansas and kick your ass, you know.” Sam starts at the non-sequitur, glancing bemusedly at Alicia. She laughs at his confusion. “Sorry, little out of the blue. I finally put two and two together. Lot of things are just now starting to make sense.” Sam must still seem pretty puzzled, because she just rolls her eyes and smiles. “Max went on and on about you for weeks after we met at Asa’s funeral. I was about to duct-tape his mouth shut, it was getting so annoying.”

“Didn’t know Dean and I had that effect on other hunters.” Sam chuckles, smiling. “He really spent weeks talking about us?” The woman’s mouth tightens into a smirk.

“Not Dean. Just you.” He blinks, not exactly sure what Alicia means. “Trust me, I was treated to endless one-way conversations and dumb questions.” Her voice shifts, going as deep as it can in a bad imitation of her brother. “ ‘Ughh. I should’ve gotten Sam Winchester’s number’… ‘He’s nice  _ and _ hot  _ and _ a good hunter, that’s like a triple threat in boyfriend qualities,’…. ‘Hey Leesh, how do you think he keeps all that hair so well-kept? That seems like a gay thing, do you think he could be gay?’… ‘Did you see his ass in those jeans? I  _ need _ to get his number,’.” Sam feels his face heat up. This only makes Alicia grin wider. “He was more excited then he let on to see you again in Rock River. Half the reason he flirted with the bartender was so he didn’t get so nervous around you.” Her voice wavers. “And then afterward, the talking just stopped. Initially, I didn’t think anything of it, because he was getting over Mom. When he told me not to call you two ever again, I thought something had happened between you two. Then, the stuff with Max not eating or sleeping or hooking up – I thought he was heartbroken or something. I was ready to hunt you down and make you regret hurting my brother, whether you let him down in the nicest possible way or had been a total homophobe about it.” Sam makes a noise of protest, which Alicia rolls her eyes at, dismissively waving a hand. “Relax, I figured you were a nice enough guy for it to probably have been the first. Either way, Max was moody about it and wasn’t spilling anything. It was like eighth grade all over, complete with the embarrassingly huge crush.”

“Crush.” Sam repeats dubiously.

“Which you know nothing about, right?” He can’t help but smile at the smug tone. “I’m surprised you didn’t realize. He had a great time flirting with you.”

“I wasn’t entirely sure if that’s what it was.” Sam admits. “I don’t get hit on too often.” Alicia cocks an eyebrow, clearly not believing him.. Blushing, he adds “Also, according to Dean, I’m not the smoothest guy. Maybe I’m not good at telling when someone’s flirting.” She snickers. “In my defense, though, you have to admit. Hitting on creepy older men at your own dad’s funeral is a weird thing to do.”

“Granted, but calling Asa ‘Dad’ is a stretch.” She responds, stretching her arms out. “He was great, but he wasn’t a part of our lives like Mom. Max wasn’t even out to him.” She glances back to him. “You were also one of the people closest to us in age at that wake. You’re not that old, Dude. And personally, I think you’re the best kind of creepy.” Sam huffs, returning Alicia’s broad smile with a much fainter one. “And Max likes you. Good enough for me.”

“He can do better.” The words sound defeatist, especially coming from his own mouth. Alicia’s just validated his suspicions, told him exactly what he was hoping to hear. He and Max have a mutual attraction, or at least they did before Rock River. And now Sam’s pushing that away, afraid that Max is too good for him. It’s the truth, though. Or, true enough, at least. Max isn’t going to hook up with the asshole who got his sister killed. Especially when said asshole is talking him into letting his sister decide whether she wants to die or not. Alicia doesn’t seem convinced by his sentiment.

“Why, because you’re straight? If that’s the reason, then I guess so, but he could also do worse.”

“The last guy I dated ended up being possessed by a demon for seven years. Right up until I stabbed him through the chest.” Alicia goes silent. Sam realizes a little too late what he’s admitted. It’s the first time he’s come out to someone since Stanford. “Max bothers you with his crushes. I still haven’t told Dean I’m into more than just women. He doesn’t know that Brady was my boyfriend.” Sam forces himself to shut up before he says anything else stupid. “Sorry, that was dumb to say.” They both stay quiet for a while. Just when he’s thinking it will last until Max returns, Alicia breaks the silence.

“You said before that I have the choice.” Sam nods, meeting her dark eyes. “So, what do you think I should choose?” _ Oh great, another conversation for you to screw up. _

“It’s not really my place to say.”

“Oh, come on.” She scoffs. “Don’t give me that. You know what you want to say. Just tell me.” He gives a noncommittal shrug. “Sam.”

“I can’t make the choice for you.” As much as he wants to. He’d love nothing more than to tell Alicia he wants her to stay alive, or at least stay the way she is. So that Max won’t have to be alone, so Sam won’t feel as guilty about her death. “No one should decide except you. If you choose to stay, I won’t judge you for it. I won’t judge if you ask Max to undo the spell, either. As long as you want to do it, and not just for Max.” Alicia frowns.

“Why do you care so much about my choices?” She asks. Sam hesitates, staring at the younger hunter.  _ Well, already told one Banes your life story today _ .  _ Might as well tell the other. _

“Do you remember Elvis? How he asked me about being possessed by Lucifer?” Alicia gives a nod. Drawing closer to her, Sam begins to talk about his history with possession. He spared Max the gorey details, but Alicia’s someone who knows what it’s like. It’s also a bonus that as someone not technically living, she lacks the ability to vomit in disgust. He can’t help but have diarrhea of the mouth, blabbing on about the times he’s been possessed, from Meg to Gadreel. The memories of the Cage that still make him wake up in a cold sweat. How Dean, Castiel and Kevin himself all bent over backward to justify his brother’s actions. Alicia looks nauseous by the time Sam finishes. She flinches when his hand rests on her shoulder, before relaxing into the gesture.

“Bottom line, any choice about your life has to be yours.” The voice in his head reminds him of going behind Dean’s back to undo the Mark of Cain. He tells the voice to kindly fuck off, and adds on that a person’s freedom to die is nowhere near the same thing as a person’s freedom to be a murderous rampaging nigh-unstoppable demon. A sharp cough makes Sam glance up. Standing a few feet from them is Max. He hasn’t improved, appearance-wise. If anything, he’s worse, eyes and nose now almost red and newly dried tear stains covering his face.

“Fire’s out.” Max says, eyes locked on his sister. Alicia pointedly avoids her twin’s gaze, staring at a random point past his shoulder. “Didn’t spread to the other trees, from what I could tell. But the Dryad’s gone completely.” His eyes meet Sam’s. “Couldn’t feel any remnants of the souls trapped in the tree. Hopefully they moved on.” The forest noises fill in the emptiness of their conversation, the birds and woodland creatures far more active now that it’s approaching nightfall. The fate of the ten humans sacrificed to Menodice’s ritual is probably better left unknown, or at least not thought on. Max looks back to his sister. “Did you decide?” Alicia sighs, scratching at her neck. Her hand comes to a rest on top of where Sam’s is still resting on her shoulder.

“I’m nowhere close to okay with what you did, Max.” She says coldly. “You lied and hid the truth from me, for months. I’ve been going insane knowing something’s wrong with me. Thinking I should hide it so I didn’t worry you.” Her twin winces, each word cutting him to the bone. “You might be the one with magic, but Mom taught us both not to screw with the natural order. And using the same magic as the witch that killed her?” Her twin hangs his head, swallowing hard. Alicia presses on, squeezing Sam’s hand. “I get not wanting to live without each other. Okay? Losing Mom was hard. Really hard.” Max is already crestfallen, knowing what his sister is going to say. “I can’t stay like this. This isn’t life.”

“Alicia…” Her brother begins.

“Max, I can’t stay this way.” She repeats. “You’re my whole life. Always have been. But if the alternative to death is this, then I’ve made my choice.” In the back of his head, Sam can hear that cold laugh.  _ What a hypocrite, staying quiet. You have no room to talk about choices. You know a way, Sammy. For her to be back, no consequences. Or close to it at least. _

“There’s another way.” He blurts out. “If you want, there might be another way.”  Two sets of eyes lock on him. Alicia’s beady black ones are filled with hesitation and concern, while the golden set bear a familiar intensity. Sam can practically taste Max’s desperation. He’s uncomfortably reminded of when he was trying to free Dean from his deal, and later trying to break him out of hell. How many lines he crossed.

Hopefully he doesn’t have to cross many more.


	5. Bargaining, Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three hunters are at the crossroads. They each must choose which path to take.

The man is devastatingly handsome. The expensive hand-tailored suit covers most of his form, but it can’t hide the rippling muscles of his chest and arms. His head is shaved, but jet-black hair is starting to grow back in. Full pink lips pull up into a smirk, standing out against the soft golden glow of his skin.

“Sam Winchester.” His eyes flash red. “It’s an honor. The name’s Cygnus.” The demon flashes immaculately white teeth. His deep, rumbling accent conjures the image of another, shorter Crossroads Demon. “I believe you rang?”

“We have a couple questions. If you answer them, then we make a deal. If not,” he flashes Ruby’s knife. The vessel snorts amusedy.

“No need for that, handsome. Wouldn’t want you to fall off the wagon now, would we?” Sam rolls his eyes, stowing the knife. Cygnus lifts his arms in a welcoming gesture. “Go on, ask your questions. I know well enough to respect royalty.” The twins stiffen on either side of him. There’ll be no shortage of questions when they get out this. It’ll have been worth it, though, if all goes to plan. Sam gestures to Alicia.

“Can you tell what’s wrong with her?” The demon frowns, resting his gaze on Alicia. Eyes flash red once more. Cygnus’ head tilts in a manner eerily akin to angels, as he looks up and down her body. Alicia crosses her arms over her chest, put off by the leering. With a chuckle, the demon turns back to Sam.

“Never do things by halves, do you?” He asks. Looking to Max, his smile widens further. “You’re certainly all-grown up, Sam. Thought Dean was more the type to shack up with twins. Guess you’re the kinkier Winchester after all.” Sam brandishes the knife again, making the demon rolls its eyes. “Alright, alright. It’s a construct made of twigs, animated with dark magic borrowed from Hell, and a human heart. Very artfully constructed, I have to say. Building this thing takes a little more than what you can buy at your local Michaels.”

“ ‘This thing’ has a name.” Alicia growls. The demon smirks once more.

“The body?” Cygnus asks. Of course he already knows what Sam wants. Why wouldn’t he? Winchesters make Crossroads deals for one thing and one thing only.

“Her remains were burnt away a couple months ago.” Sam explains. “The ashes are in Rock River, Wyoming.” The demon ponders some more.

“Show me how she was reanimated.” He orders. Max silently approaches the demon, withdrawing a tiny spell book from his jacket pocket and placing it and the ring into Cygnus’ outstretched palm. The demon inspects the ring closely. He opens the tome, thumbing through the pages and muttering under his breath. Nodding to himself, he closes the book and hands both it and the ring back to Max.

“Can you bring her back?” Sam finally asks. The demon looks at him, then to Alicia, then to Max, then back to him.

“I just might. It depends on what you’re willing to offer.” The three of them have already discussed the plan of action. Sam summons the demon. Max makes the deal, barring the possibility that the Borrower ring has marked his soul for Hell already. Once they confirm that Cygnus has kept his end of the bargain, and that Alicia has been brought back to life, they’ll put all their efforts into undoing the deal. Hopefully it’s as easy as stabbing the demon through the heart before he has the chance to return to hell. If it isn’t, then they’ll have to try a little harder.

“My soul’s not enough?” Max asks, eyes fixed on Cygnus.

“Not in this case.” Cygnus says. “Don’t worry, it’s not damned from using the ring. The contract was fulfilled when that old bat dropped dead and went straight to Hell where she belongs. But it’s not enough. Believe me, I’d be more than happy to kiss you, be on my merry way, and come to collect in ten years.” He gives Max a wink. “Though I suppose it’d be a bit like making out with a mirror, wouldn’t it, handsome? Maybe you should’ve done the summoning instead. No denying Sammy’s got a type.” Sam’s face heats up. The demon’s vessel bears an undeniable resemblance to the male Banes. He can feel Alicia suppress a snicker to his right.  To his left, Max doesn’t react at all. “As it happens, I don’t want a soul.”

“Then what do you want?” Alicia asks.

“A king.” At their confused expressions, the demon flashes a smile. “Hell’s chaotic. That’s a given, it’s meant to be chaotic. But the rulers in the past few years have been far too unsavory for my tastes. Crowley wasn’t too bad, I suppose, but he wasn’t exactly a stable leader. And Asmodeus is just a mishap waiting to happen. A powerful mishap, granted. No demon will challenge him directly.” He nods to Sam. “But you can, if you come with me.” There’s a short pause, before the three hunters come to the same conclusion.

“Like hell!” Alicia growls, moving protectively in front of Sam. “You aren’t taking Sam.” Cygnus rolls his eyes.

“Well then, we don’t have a deal.” He says with a shrug. “I wouldn’t make this offer any other way.” He looks at Sam. “I wouldn’t be asking this if I didn’t think you could do it, Fabio.”

“What would you want me to do?” Sam asks. Ignoring Alicia’s protests, he stares on at the demon. Cygnus gives a chuckle.

“Speak out against Asmodeus. It’s that simple” Sam’s disbelief must show, because he just smiles. “They don’t say it, but you’re most demons’ favorite Winchester. Just challenging Hell’s Ruler would be enough to gain you a sizeable base of supporters.”

“Yeah, that’s likely.” He snorts. The demon raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t believe me?” Cygnus asks. Holding up a fist, he sticks out an index finger. “Firstly, you’re Lucifer’s Vessel. That will have most of the Loyalists.” He extends his middle finger. “Say what you will about Crowley, but you had his admiration. That grants you the backing of his supporters. Thirdly,” The demon looks at him pointedly. “You’re Azazel’s heir. Even though you aren’t fully a demon, you still carry the blood of Hell’s longest-serving ruler and most formidable of of the four Princes. Most of it has gone by now, but some is still there. That will cow many objectors, including some of Asmodeus’ own cabal.” Sam can feel both Alicia and Max’s eyes on him, and his heart sinks. He knows that Cygnus has just destroyed their last shred of faith in Sam by revealing his true nature.

“Your other accomplishments speak for themselves. There’s no denying you’re a brilliant hunter, because stupid hunters don’t usually manage to get as high a kill list as you have before croaking. Despite what you may think, Heaven and Hell had no role in getting you into Stanford, so you managed to secure a full scholarship to one of the top 5 universities in the world living as a drifter in absolute poverty. You’ve overpowered Lucifer a couple times. You killed Alistair and Lilith with little more than a thought, so any other demon’s laughable. You almost closed Hell entirely, so there’s the fear of you locking every last demon away. And, of course, you managed to subdue a Knight of Hell and restore his humanity.” He smiles. “Is that enough proof for you?” Sam doesn’t say anything, keeping his eyes on the demon. Cygnus’ offer isn’t even remotely a possibility in his mind: he’s stalling more than anything, trying to gauge how long it will take him to kill the demon, and possible ways to make sure he restores Alicia to life before Sam can back out of the deal. Thinking and rethinking, so that he won’t get outsmarted by another demon. But Cygnus must take the silence as Sam actually considering his offer, because the demon is grinning like the cat that caught the canary. “What do you say?”

“Get lost.” Alicia snarls, approaching the demon. “The deal’s off.” Cygnus glowers, raising a hand threateningly. The hunter doesn’t flinch, flashing Ruby’s knife at him. Sam blinks, rooting through his pockets; he didn’t even realize that she had taken it.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t work things out.” Cygnus says. The smile is back on his lips, far thinner than before. He turns back to Sam. “If you change your mind, you know how to summon me. You can even have your twins tag along, if you want.”

“Not interested.” Alicia says flatly. The demon shrugs, vanishing as quickly as he appeared. As soon as Cygnus is gone, she spins around. “What the hell, Sam?” She demands, shoving his arm. “The plan was to dupe the Crossroads demon. We didn’t agree to letting you become a hostage! You weren’t seriously considering it, were you?”

“What? No, of course not!” Sam protests, hands raised in innocence. “I mean, I was going to take the deal, I was just trying to figure out how to overpower him.”  He isn’t sure the twins will believe him. After all Cygnus just revealed about him, why would they? It’s true, though; Sam has no interest in running Hell. He was only trying to help the twins. Unfortunately, this doesn’t seem to calm Alicia down. She’s becoming progressively angrier, looking between Sam and her brother.

“And what if you couldn’t have?” She asks. “You think I’d be okay with that? As long as we got what we wanted, everyone else can screw off?” Sam’s left gaping at her. It’s difficult to say without sounding rude, but that’s exactly what he’s thought. He damned Lester Morris to hell, and nearly had the murder of Lester’s wife on his hands, all in an effort to save Dean. For all their friendliness (and flirting, if Alicia’s telling the truth), Sam’s a stranger to the twins. Why should they care? His silence must be answer enough, because Alicia fumes even more, turning on her brother. “And you! You were about to let him!”

“Alicia, I was fine. I wasn’t going in without a plan.” Sam moves in front of the still–silent Max. “We can summon him again, make the deal –”

“Just stop, Sam.” Alicia cuts him off. Her wrath ebbs away, leaving only a pitiful look. Sam’s stomach drops as the realization hits him. Reaching forward, she grabs his hands and wraps them in her own. Sam looks down, silently amazed at how much he dwarfs her, her hands almost childlike encasing his. A gentle squeeze has him looking up. Those dark eyes, vast and endless like the night, carry a soft and silent intensity. A determination of their own. “You’ve helped, as much as you could. You tried so hard to fix this. I know you feel guilty, and you want to fix this, or make it better. But me dying wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you.”

Alicia releases his hands with another squeeze. Glancing to her twin, she gently beckons Sam to move aside. She takes a step toward Max, and then another, gravel crunching underfoot until she’s inches from him. They silently stare each other in the face, Alicia looking up slightly. Sam’s never noticed before that Max stands nearly half a head taller than his sister. The staring goes on, the howling of the wind and Sam and Max’s breathing being the only sounds audible.

Alicia isn’t breathing at all.

“Please.” Max whispers, hands trembling as they caress his sister’s face. “Alicia, please don’t do this.” Smiling sadly, his sister raises a hand, bringing it to rest on Max’s shoulder. And with that, he breaks.

“I can’t!” He gasps out, falling to his knees. “Alicia, I don’t want to be alone! Please don’t leave me alone!”

“Max, you’re not going to be alone.” Those dark eyes look back at Sam when she says this. Alicia gently strokes her brother’s shoulder as he cries into her stomach. “You have Lorraine, and there are so many other people that care about you.” He doesn’t respond, continues with the “Nos” and “Pleases” and “Don’t wanna be alones”. Alicia sighs, getting down to her knees. She tilts her brother’s face upward. “Staying this way has been hurting you as much as it’s been hurting me. Even if you don’t want to let go, I can’t keep making you suffer through this. I’ve made my mind up, Max. You promised me.” Max shakes his head.

“No, I can’t…” he begs. “Alicia, please don’t make me.” Alicia sighs, looking back to Sam.

“Will you do the cancellation spell?” He blinks, slightly confused as he points out the obvious.

“I’m not a witch.”

“Spell’s a spell.” Alicia shrugs. “You don’t need to be one. You just need the artifact and the incantation.” She’s already holding the ring and the tome out to him, ignoring Max’s tugging at her shirt. Sam vaguely recalls her saying how dulled her emotions have been. A part of him wonders whether she’s in a proper state of mind to be making this decision so quickly.

“Okay.” The word leaves his mouth with a bitter, near unpalatable taste. Alicia hands him the two items, still not reacting to her brother’s distress. Sam glances away from Max, trying his hardest to tune out his pleas. He doesn’t have the strength to deal with those honey-colored eyes pleading for him to not take Alicia away.  _ Pull yourself together, Sam. This ain’t about your feelings,  _ growls a voice that he can’t help but associate with a ball cap and whiskey.  _ You were always gonna be the asshole who took his sister away. _

Sam thumbs through the tome, which is remarkably straightforward. A page or so after the instructions on building the Twig and Twine Dolls, as the Borrower Witch so delicately called them, is the incantation to destroy one. He reads it over and over under his breath, fiddling with the ring in his free hand. All he needs to do is put on the ring and say the spell with a wave of his hand. Sam keeps hoping that she’ll change her mind at the last second, that he won’t have to kill Alicia in front of her brother. That he won’t have to be the reason Max loses his sister a second time. But Alicia is still staring him dead in the eye, completely determined _. At least you can spare Max from doing this himself. _

“Ready when you are.” He says, the purple ring sliding down a long finger. Alicia looks to her brother, wiping away his tears and murmurs soft encouragements in his ear. She places a final kiss onto his forehead before slipping from his grasp. Sam is caught off guard when she nearly knocks him over in a hug.

“Take care of him.” She whispers. Sam nods clumsily as he hugs her back. “Even if he’s a total ass and hates your guts, please promise me you’ll take care of him.” His grip on Alicia tightens, pulling her further into his body. He buries his face into the crook of her shoulder as a drop of water runs down his cheek. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think Max could do much better than you.” A second drop falls on his face. And a third, and a fourth. Sam briefly wonders if it’s raining, before he notices how blurry everything looks, and how his eyes sting. “Don’t you go crying on me, too.” Alicia laughs. She brushes his face with a thumb, her teeth catching moonlight in the darkness. “Promise me you’ll take care of my brother, Sam.”

“I promise.” Sam can’t even recognize his voice from how hoarse it is. Alicia presses her lips softly against his cheek, giving a last squeeze before releasing him. Clearing his throat, Sam repeats the incantation over and over in his head. He lifts the hand bearing the ring –

“Wait.” A wrist grips Sam’s arm tightly. Max is suddenly there, standing at his side. Shakily, the witch extends an outstretched hand. “I’ll do it.” He says it in a harsh, hollow tone, on the verge of tears yet again. Sam’s heart is pounding out of his chest, not certain what to say.

“Are you sure?” Max gives a nod, glancing sideways at his sister.

“I promised.” Sam doesn’t argue further, swiftly removing the ring and dropping it into the younger man’s open palm along with the book. Trembling fingers grasp the ring, moving it at a snail’s pace. Sam wraps his hand around Max’s, helping him slip the ring on. Watery eyes meet his in silent thanks.

Alicia’s beaming ear to ear. Her existence, so unfairly short, is about to end on a dusty back road in Iowa, and she has a smile that could outshine the moon. Sam’s suddenly awed with how radiant Alicia looks. It’s not that he hasn’t noticed; the first thing that struck him about her was how beautiful she was, like how the first thing he noticed about Max was his handsomeness. But now it’s overwhelming, impossible to avoid or run away from.

“I’ll be waiting for you.” She promises. “Mom and I both will.” Max sucks in a breath, knees threatening to buckle. Sam pats his back, giving as much silent encouragement as he can muster. Reinvigorated, the witch shakily extends a hand, reaching out towards his sister. Taking a deep breath, Max begins the incantation. The crystal on the ring lights up, piercing the night with its purple glow. Max’s eyes are alight with violet fire, as he continues reciting the spell. The words suddenly come to a halt, and his arm falls. The ring has reverted back to its previous state, dull and inert on Max’s finger,  the witch's eyes amber once again.

A tower of dark twigs comes tumbling down, scattering across the road. Alicia Banes is gone.

And Sam’s left holding Max as he screams into the night for his sister.


	6. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean frets. Max mourns. Sam is the shoulder he cries on.

“Dean, stop pacing.” Jody orders. “You’re making me nervous.”

“Yeah, well maybe I’m already nervous.” He says. The sheriff gives him what he’s sure qualifies as a Mom Look, but goes back to drinking her beer. “What the hell was he thinking? Facing Max without backup, or a phone to call. We’ve ganked enough psycho witches for Sam to know better!”

“Sam didn’t think Max was going to hurt him.” Donna says.

“He also didn’t think Max was gonna bring back Alicia. We saw how that turned out.” They all go quiet again, and Dean continues pacing around the library. The four women have been at the Bunker for about 3 hours, filling him on what had happened during the hunt. It’s nearly 1 in the morning now, and all they can do is sit around and hope to hear from Sam soon.

“Do you really think Max would kill Sam?” Jody asks. “I mean, he seemed nervous during the whole hunt, but he wasn’t threatening.” She takes a breath, before adding. “If anything, he was heartbroken when Alicia found out.” Dean knows the pain of being caught in a lie by the person you care about. He’s been in that same situation more times than he likes to remember, on both sides. Max’s desperation is also familiar – Dean has killed for Sam, and vice versa. The Baneses might not be as far gone as they are, but there’s really no telling.

“I don’t know, Jody. I met the guy twice.” He shoots back. “They were high-stress situations, not exactly the best way to get to know people. If Sam thought he wouldn’t bring Alicia back, though, then I definitely got a better read on Max than he did, that’s for damn sure.” Claire arches an eyebrow.

“Did you get the read that he wants to bang your brother?” Dean chokes on his beer as Jody scolds her with a stern _Claire!_ He looks at the girl incredulously.

“Come again?”

“Alicia was 80% sure Sam and Max were off doing the dirty when we went out looking for them.” Claire says, leaning forward in her seat. “She said something about ‘If they’ve been having sex this entire time I’m gonna kill Max’. And she said how when they’d met you two for the first time, Max couldn’t shut up about how hot Sam was for weeks after.”

Dean blinks. He knew Max was gay, obviously, that didn’t bother him. It was Max’s own business, and he seemed like a good enough guy. But he also likes to think that he has a good sense on whenever someone is attracted to his little brother. How could he not? He’s been watching and protecting Sam since the dude was in diapers. He’s always been clued in to when people have any kind of interest in Sam, and when it’s as something as cutesy as a crush, he feels a sense of pride for his brother. He’s even encouraged quite a few women into making a move on Sam. But this thing with Max is news to him. They’ve spent their entire lives in each other’s pockets, and Sam’s never shown an interest in guys. His interest in girls isn’t that obvious, to be fair, but Dean’s caught him eyeing enough women and teased him into talking with them to know it exists. He can’t remember a time when Sam’s had that same reaction to a dude.

“Okay, so what? You think the reason they haven’t called back yet is because Sam and Max are off having sex? No, the kid will do anything to keep his sister alive.” He sighs. “Screw it, I’m gonna head out to make sure he’s okay.” Almost immediately, his phone buzzes. Looking down at the unfamiliar number, Dean frowns, pressing the answer key. “Winchester.”

“Dean.” His brother’s voice washes over him, and he relaxes at the sound. It’s the confirmation that Sam’s safe. Then Dean remembers how pissed he is.

“Hey, Sammy, forget something? Like, I don’t know, telling me before you try playing therapist to a psycho witch?” Through the line, he can hear his brother’s familiar sigh of frustration. And something else, much fainter. Crying?

“It’s already done.” Dean frowns. The audible exhaustion makes him rapidly switch gears from pissed-off to worried.

“What’s done?” He asks gruffly. “Sam, what happened?” A familiar voice fills the line with wracked sobbing. Sam’s tone becomes gentler, shushing the source. “Who’s that? Sam, where are you?”

“I’m with Max right now. I’m just calling to let you know I’m okay, and I’m not coming back right away.” A thousand arguments come to Dean’s mind, most of them ending with ‘It’s not safe’. The person on the other end, now recognizable as Max, mutters something unintelligible. “No, Max. I’m not leaving you alone. Not right now.” Sam insists, gently but firmly. And with that, all the fight leaves him..

“Sure.” He says. The line goes silent for a while, leaving Dean to look at the confused expressions in front of him. “Take all the time you need.”

“Okay.” Sam finally answers, after another brief silence. “Thanks, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean grunts, rubbing at his forehead. “Let the kid know the bunker’s open. If he needs it.”

“I will.” Sam hangs up. Dean lowers his phone, left uncertain and with a room full of questions.

* * *

 “You don’t need to babysit me.” Max says as Sam stows his phone. The Winchester glances at the younger man. His voice is still raspy and congested, eyes not yet dry.

“I didn’t think of it as babysitting.” Sam says. The witch lies back, pressing against the pillow. They’re currently in the hotel room the twins had been using. The minute they’d entered the room, Max had curled like a cat on one the beds. Sam had set up shop at the table in the middle of the room, opening his laptop to check for leads on Jack. Like all others before them, the sources gave no solid clues as to the missing Nephilim’s location. When the sound of muffled sobs reached his ears, Sam packed the laptop away. He’s since migrated to the foot of the occupied bed.

“I get you trying to be helpful and whatever,” Max says, eyes facing the wall. “But please don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not going to leave you alone, Max.” He insists, edging closer to the man. “I didn’t want to leave you alone last time. I’m not going to leave you alone now.” Max snorts.

“Not like I can bring Alicia back this time.” He says. “The ring and tome are gone. And so is she.” Before they came back to the hotel, Max’d turned the scattered twigs into a pyre, flames hungrily consuming the only remaining part of Alicia alongside the dark artifacts that had prolonged her stay on Earth. It was only after Sam had checked that the ring and book were damaged beyond use that they’d put the fire out.

“That’s not what I meant.” Sam says. After a pause, Max turns over to face him. Sam represses a shudder at the exposure he feels under that golden gaze. The witch tilts his head to one side, pensive. “I don’t want you to feel alone.”

“Why?” Sam scooches further up on the bed, stopping to rest by Max’s leg. There’s so many ways to answer, all equally truthful. A gentle kick makes him look up to see Max awaiting his answer.

“Because I care about you.” The young man’s head leans to one side as he continues to stare. _Shit, wrong thing to say._ Despite his sincerity, the phrase sounds selfish the instant it leaves Sam’s mouth. Max already knows that Sam is attracted to him, Cygnus pretty much said it outright. The last thing he needs is to think Sam is only here to get laid. The hunter’s mind screams at him to amend his statement. “You and Alicia were two of the few people I’ve really connected with in the past few years. I have Dean, and Jody’s great and all, but with you two…. it didn’t really feel like you were around me out of obligation, you know?” The witch’s frown hasn’t wavered in the slightest. Sam awkwardly presses on. “Sure, you guys were hunters, but you weren’t friendly with me because I was Dean’s brother, or because I was helping you on a case, you just were… yourselves.” The room’s other occupant still hasn’t said anything. Sam sighs in exhaustion, rubbing at his neck. He ends the impromptu staring match, unable to tell if Max’s eyes are looking at him in hatred or confusion or grief. Maybe a mixture of the three. So instead, he’s left staring awkwardly at the drawn window like it’s something hanging in the Louvre. The soft orange glow of dawn has started peaking through the blinds, the night having come and gone already. “If you want me to leave, I get it. With me being the reason she… the reason she’s gone. I can get someone else –”

“I don’t blame you for Alicia.” Max interrupts, causing Sam to fall silent. The witch stares blankly down at his hands. “Rock River was a trap, and you were the one to realize it. We all probably would’ve died if you hadn’t found out when you did.” No one would’ve died at all if Sam hadn’t been so inept to save Alicia. He’s not exactly sure if Max genuinely believes what he’s saying, or is just lying for his sake.

“Max, you don’t have to say that to make me feel better.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Sam.” He insists, sitting up more in the bed. “And today…” His voice cracks, and he brings his knees to his chest. The gesture overwhelms Sam with the need to wrap the other man tightly in his arms, but he forces the urge down. “You were right. I should’ve told her from the get-go, let her make her own choices instead of hiding the truth from her.”

“Hey…” Sam moves to touch Max’s shoulder. Thinking better of it at the last minute, his hand retracts, coming back down to rest at his side.

“You know it’s true, Sam.” The witch says. The statement’s laughable, because Sam honestly isn’t sure if he knows the truth about anything anymore. It _had_ been the truth that he was finally out of hunting. That he was going to marry and live the rest of his life with Jess. That he and Dean would never hurt each other, or turn their backs on one another. Now none of those things are even close to being true. “Alicia told you how we’ve been – bringing her back was torture. For both of us. I haven’t slept more than 4 hours a night since Rock River.” Max rubs at his eyes, whether to stem any more tears, or just from sheer exhaustion, Sam isn’t sure.

“You should probably get some rest, man.” He tells the younger hunter. “It’s close to 7. You must’ve been up at least 24 hours.” They both have, minus the brief period of unconsciousness after being knocked out by the Dryad. Grief and sleep deprivation are never the best combination, and hopefully sleeping will help Max process a bit. Or at least help Sam improve on his comforting skills, which currently leave a lot to be desired. Thankfully there’s no argument from Max, just a meager nod.

Sam lifts himself off the bed and walks to the door, hanging the Do-Not-Disturb sign and dead-bolting it behind him. He makes his way over to the unoccupied bed and strips down to his undershirt and boxers. A groan of pleasure nearly escapes Sam’s mouth as he sinks into the mattress, the relief of the foam an instant relief for his body. Max had healed the gash on his ribs, but his body is still littered with bruises, and Sam’s willing to bet that he has a concussion and possibly a couple pulled muscles. So he’s content to press face-first into the pillow, nose greeted by the smell of pine and mint. Looking over to the other bed, he isn’t so surprised to see the witch staring at him.

“Something wrong?” Sam asks, propping himself up to better face the witch. Max continues staring, not moving except for the slow rise and fall of his chest. “Max?”

“Can I ask you something? A favor?” Sam nods instinctually, meeting Max’s gaze. The witch shifts slightly in his bed, pulling back the covers. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, Max.” He’s sitting up now, ignoring the protest of his aching body. Across from him, Max’s hesitation is palpable. The younger man avoids looking at him now, suddenly rather fascinated with the ceiling. “Whatever it is, you can ask.”

“It’s just….” Max’s voice cracks, and he trails off somewhat. “I cut everyone else off, pretty much.” His eyes dart back to Sam, who nods once more, urging him to continue. “I was so afraid of any other hunters finding out about Alicia. I almost didn’t take this hunt because I didn’t know if Jody or Donna would say anything to you.

“But it’s more than hunters. We were never around people any more than we needed to. I haven’t spoken with Lorraine in months, because I knew she’d want us to visit. She may not be a hunter, but she’s been around enough to not be that stupid. So, I haven’t really been near a living person, at least since Rock River.” Max looks away, staring down at his hands. Sam can do nothing but keep on nodding. He and Dean don’t really interact with anyone either, except Jody. She’s unwittingly become a replacement for Bobby, the somewhat parental figure they occasionally talk to if they’re on a hunt or need a place to crash. They keep everyone else in their lives at a safe distance away, in case they end up like Bobby. Or Dad. Or the Harvelles, Charlie, Kevin….

“After a really bad hunt, Alicia and I would always share a bed.” Sam looks up in surprise. Max turns back to him, shrugging at his reaction. “We were really touchy-feely as a family. If a hunt had one of us really shaken, we both would have trouble sleeping. It could go on for weeks, waking from nightmares where the hunt had gone wrong and the other had died.” _Dreams really do come true, Sammy!_ “The only thing that made it better was sleeping close enough to hear each other’s heartbeats.” Max doesn’t waver, doesn’t look away. Sam isn’t sure he trusts himself to interpret what the man’s trying to say. After all, he’s not the Winchester considered to be the people-person.

“Are you sure?” Sam tries to imbue as much concern into that phrase as possible. Regardless of what he feels for Max, taking advantage of a grieving hunter isn’t high on his to-do list. That’s not including his own discomfort with the situation. Hugging is the extent of Winchester intimacy, and it’s used sparingly, only really in situations where they might be saying goodbye for the final time – sharing a bed is as far from platonic as can be for them. Even this kind of closeness has been foreign to Sam since he slept in the back of the Impala, that waitress Piper pressed up against him.

Max pulls back the bedsheet, golden eyes sending a silent plea. Even as the younger man shifts to the far side, Sam notes how ridiculously tiny the twin bed is. He remembers sharing a twin with Brady from time to time, falling asleep in each other’s arms in either one of their dorm rooms. Fitting was hard enough with two 6-foot-tall college boys, lanky and just finishing puberty. He and Max are two 6-foot-tall, fully grown hunters; they’ll need to literally be on top of one another.

Sam slowly eases under the covers beside the other man. Like he suspected, they take the bed up completely, no room to speak of leftover. Sam’s on his back, and Max on his side pressed right up against Sam. The witch lifts an arm, draping it across Sam’s chest. The other slips behind Sam’s head. The hunter stiffens as Max’s hand brushes the back of his neck. A chill spreads through his bones, like they’re submerged in ice water. _Just like old times, ay, Roomie?_

“Sam, you okay?” The hand comes rest on Sam’s shoulder. Max shifts closer, his elbow cradling Sam’s neck. A second hand pressing against his chest brings his attention back to Max. The witch’s eyes swim with concern, the hand on his chest rubbing soft circles. Pulling him closer, Max asks again. “You okay?”

The younger man is warm all over, fighting the ethereal chill that overwhelms him. Sam nods slowly, but still digs a finger into his palm. Almost immediately, Max takes his hand and gently squeezes it, fingers brushing at the long-since-gone scar. Sam shudders slightly at the gesture. Max radiates heat like sunlight, slowly lulling his body into relaxation. Sam’s nose is overwhelmed once again with the smells of pine and mint, much stronger than they had been in the other bed. The faint odor of sandalwood and lavender are enough to tell him that this must’ve been the bed Alicia was using. Max must be clinging to the last few traces of his sister left. Closing his eyes, he wills himself to drift off. Something comes to rest on his chest for a moment, but the body against him is a furnace so he doesn’t flinch.

Vibrations rumble through Sam’s body, making him crack an eye open. His vision is dominated by Max’s head, so close that he can each dark follicle growing in. There’s another set of deep rumbles, accompanied by some muffled murmuring into his chest. It suddenly hits Sam – the vibrations are suppressed laughter. Max is actually laughing.

“Max?” Laughing right now can really only mean shock, and it’s best they both stay calm. Sam cautiously brushes a hand over the witch’s head. Max looks up, giggling slightly.

“Heartbeat.” He says, hesitantly placing a hand where his head had just been on Sam’s chest. The way he says it, with wide eyes and reverence, one might think Max had witnessed a minor miracle. He presses an ear to Sam’s chest, laughing again. After a beat, though, the smile shrinks on his lip, turning sad.

“What’s wrong?” His arm comes to rest on Max’s shoulder. Sam internally muses that for all his initial hesitation, he has no problem being touchy-feely with Max now that he’s up against him. The witch shifts upward, bringing his head to rest on the pillow. His hand is still on Sam’s chest, tapping a steady beat. Max hasn’t offered any response, eyes are staring off into space. “Hey,” Sam jostles him, staring intently. The witch lets out a breath, unconsciously pulling in closer to Sam

“I thought after I’d brought her back, everything would be fine.” He murmurs. “We at least had each other.” The fingers keep drumming against Sam, keeping in sync with his heartbeat. “We shared a bed that first night. We needed to, after –” He pauses, swallowing. “After Mom.” Sam begins to rub circles on Max’s back, taking in the witch’s features. He’s deep in thought, hazel eyes fixed on a single spot in the far corner of the room. His jaw is clenched, his temple pulsing.  “It felt like I could hide from the pain of losing her and the fear of Alicia dying.” His hand stutters, ceasing to tap in rhythm with Sam’s heartbeat. “I never fell asleep. Because her heartbeat was gone.”

Max says it very matter-of-factly, but his entire body trembles. Instinctively, Sam pulls the younger man inward with both arms. The witch shudders and burrows his face into Sam. Sam’s once again shushing him gently, patting his shoulder.

“Shh, hey,” Sam whispers. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” The mantra continues as his neck becomes progressively damper. Max finally breaks, sobbing into Sam’s shoulder. Sam only pulls him closer, repeating the lie again and again. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Max. It’s okay.”


	7. Mourning Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam Winchester has some regrets. A lot, actually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may be mentally triggering. If you want to keep reading but are not mentally prepared or ready, you can skip until the first page break.

The first thing Sam’s aware of when he comes to is a pressure on his chest. A gentle wheezing tickles at his ear, and something warm and firm brushes against his leg. Forcing his eyes open, the hunter’s greeted by a sight that’s more than just a little bizarre. Slumped on top of him is Max, snoring gently into his shoulder. Their heads are so perilously close that Sam probably can’t turn to the left without having his lips brush against Max’s cheek. Looking to his right, Sam squints to make out a set of glowing green numbers. 3:25. The room’s so dark it could be any time, but the light streaming in from the blinds tells him that it’s the afternoon.

Eleven hours. They’ve slept for nearly eleven hours, if not over a day. The fact that Dean isn’t barging through the door with a loaded shotgun probably indicates the former, but even that long a period without hearing from Sam is bound to be concerning for his older brother. Because Sam knows better than to not check in. And Dean knows, from experience, that Sam couldn’t have been sleeping for those eleven hours, because Sam doesn’t usually sleep over four or five. Hell, he’s never slept this long unless recovering from an injury. Except for that one time after Freshman Spring Quarter Finals, when he and Ty got ridiculously high on something that might’ve been oregano and traumatized Ty’s homophobic roommate by making out and falling asleep completely naked on said-roommate’s bed.

Max gives a grunt, and Sam’s gaze returns to him. The witch looks far younger sleeping than he does awake. All the expressions he’s worn before – flirty swagger, paralyzed fear, utter grief – are absent. If anything, he looks grouchy and disgruntled, brow furrowed and lips pouty. The corners of Sam’s mouth are fighting a smile. Bizarre as the experience was, both he and Max seem to have slept better than they have in a while.

Sam’s thoughts are derailed as he feels something firm dig into his thigh. Max gives another snort on top of him, a twitch against Sam’s upper leg leaving no doubt in his mind what’s pressing into him. Suddenly aware of the tightness in his stomach and the lack of room in his boxers, Sam realizes he’s unfortunately in the same boat as Max. His face heats up.  _ Perfect. Just perfect. Exactly what I need right now. _

He really shouldn’t be freaking out. It’s a natural reaction, one neither of them can help. It’s not like he’s some inexperienced teenager either, like he was back at Stanford. Though it admittedly took him a while to stop blushing when Ty or a one night stand grinded against him, he’s had enough experience with these situations that he really shouldn’t be acting like a sixteen-year-old because both he or the guy he’s sharing a bed with (or both, in this case) has morning wood.

But this isn’t like the previous encounters Sam’s had. The other times he’s woken up to some guy pressing up against him, it’s been because they’d had sex the night before. The exception being Tyson, obviously, because before he was Sam’s boyfriend, he’d just been the best friend Sam was so awkwardly in love with, and they’d shared a bed many times before they’d dated. And the pre-med major had been an utter gentleman when they finally admitted their mutual feelings, letting Sam set the pace in their relationship and not rushing him into sex. On top of that, the last time he’d even made out with a man was back when he was Soulless. When his body still didn’t know what tortures God’s eldest sons were inflicting on his spirit.

That’s what scares him. Max is the first guy Sam’s wanted to be with since the Cage. It’s not like there haven’t been other men he’s found attractive, but the wounds of what Lucifer did to him still last in his memory, even after Cas removed the damage from his soul. Any desire for intimacy with another man has been stifled by that primal fear of being overpowered and forced down like a dog.

Max is different. Sam’s attraction toward him hasn’t been just physical. He might’ve been drawn to the witch at first because he was easy on the eyes, but Sam wasn’t the type to fall for just a pretty face. When he’d gotten to talk with Max at Asa’s funeral, he’d seen that the younger man was also hilarious and charming.  He’s a hundred times smarter than Sam, far more versed in lore and magic and a number of things.

Max slides further down his body. His stomach presses firmly around Sam’s middle, drawing a wince from the older hunter. Sam shifts slightly, afraid of rousing Max from his sleep, especially given their current situation. Because regardless of what he wants, Max just lost his sister. And even though Alicia said that her brother feels the same way, it makes Sam a pretty shitty person to try and take advantage when the witch is in mourning.  _ Ok, _ he thinks.  _ It will go away if you relax long enough. Just keep calm, and hopefully Max won’t wake up before it’s gone. _

A cheap mobile cover of  _ Miracles _ starts blasting out from where Alicia’s phone sits on the nightstand. It’s probably Dean’s least favorite song by Jefferson Starship, and considering how much he hates their music, that’s saying a lot. So, naturally, Sam always sets it as his brother’s ringtone. He’s even managed to do it now, after quickly punching in Dean’s contact info last night. Max grumbles on top of him, the tinny music disturbing his sleep. Swearing under his breath, Sam wraps an arm around Max’s middle, so the witch doesn’t fall from his precarious perch on top of him and reaches out with the other to grab the phone. After a few fumbles, he finally manages to wrap his fingers around it and yank out the plug. Once he sees Dean’s name, Sam’s thumb presses the answer button.

“H’lo?” He whispers.

“Dude, it’s almost 4.” Dean’s annoyance is obvious. But even through the muffled quality of the cell, Sam can hear the underlying worry. “What gives?”

“Sorry. Just woke up.” Sam apologizes. Dean doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“Hold it, you  _ just _ woke up?” His brother says in disbelief. “You, Mr. Early Bird, Mr. Sunshine. Are you okay, man?” Max gives a low groan, sliding off from where he was on top of Sam to lie beside him. “Dude, is that Max? What gives?”

“Hangover.” Sam blurts out, thinking on his feet of some excuse to invent. The last thing he needs is for his brother to think that they’re sleeping together. In the best case, Dean acts like his overprotective self. Worst case, he thinks Max is Ruby 2.0. “I took him to the bar.” He’s half-out of the bed, keeping his voice as low as he can so he doesn’t wake up Max. “Needed something to distract him. Must’ve drunken half the beer in there.” And yeah, the lie tastes sour in his mouth and Sam feels like shit for breaking their mutual promise not to keep secrets. Though, in Sam’s defense, this agreement was made to stop them from working behind each other’s backs, not to reveal that they’d just spent the night sharing a bed with a stranger.

“Poor kid.” Dean comments, mercifully not pressing the matter. “You bringin’ him back to the Bunker tonight?”

“Yeah, probably.” Sam’s anxious to get off the phone. Even when he’s talking as quiet as possible, Max is making distressed noises, slowly rousing. “Talk with you later.”

“Sure.” The line goes dead, and Sam places the phone back on the nightstand.

“You talk way too loud.” Sam turns to see a grumpy Max rubbing at his eyes. The disgruntled witch stretches out in the bed. He presses against Sam, grabbing at his shoulders. “What time is it?”

“Four.” He answers. The witch gives another groan, burying his face in the pillow. It’s a pretty ridiculous behavior to see on a full-grown man, and Sam would laugh if he wasn’t so terrified of saying the wrong thing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Hmm.” The witch doesn’t elaborate. Sam isn’t sure if that’s a response, or just some mindless groan of irritation. “Was already up. Hard not to wake up when someone’s rubbing on you.” Sam chokes on whatever he’s about to say.

“I’m – I….sorry, it was…”

“Relax, man.” Max lifts his head from the pillow. Sam’s stomach does a flip when he hears the witch’s deep velvety laughter.  _ Come on, get it together. _ “It’s a natural reaction. I’m flattered and all.” Sam just nods awkwardly, getting up from the bed deliberately facing away from Max. “If you wanna hop back in and do some more rubbin’, I won’t say no.” His face feels like it’s burning, and Max can undoubtedly see how flustered he’s getting. Sam shakes his head, giving a sharp cough.

“We should get on the road soon.” He responds, silently thanking fate or God or whatever for his voice managing to not crack or stutter. The corners of Max’s mouth curve upward into a dangerous smile, and Sam tries to hide the shiver that runs up his spine. It strikes him suddenly how much of a bizarrely cheerful mood the witch is in. “You good?” Giving a shrug, Max yawns and sits up in bed.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Woke up to a whole lot of good.” Sam’s face is probably never gonna go back to its normal color after this, if Max keeps up the shameless commentary. He’s blushed more times in the past day or so than he probably has in years. It’s ridiculous how Max can make him feel like a shy gangly teenager again with little more than words and a few smiles.

_ It’s ridiculous how you claim to care about him and want to avoid taking advantage of him, when you get so weak-kneed and eager for a little flirting, ay Sammy? _ The familiar voice is like ice water, chilling him to the bone and sucking the heat from his cheeks.

“Max.” Even after sleeping for almost half a day, Sam is suddenly exhausted. “What do you remember?” It’s impossible for him to have no memory from yesterday, because he’s obviously unperturbed by the sight of Sam in his bed. But he’s still half-awake and probably suffering a from a concussion given how many times he got thrown around by the Dryad, and Sam knows from experience how easy it is to wake up and just not remember. How many times he would wake up in a two-bed motel room staring at the empty twin across from him, thinking that Dean was out on a coffee run or having an awkward morning after with some local girl. And when he finally was fully awake it would just hit him. Every. Single. Time.

The light slowly fades from Max’s face, eclipsed by realization. As recognition sets in, the witch’s expression becomes somber. Those whiskey-colored eyes turn away, looking down at the bedsheets. Sam feels a lump forming in his throat.

“Max, I’m so, so sorry.” It’s a beyond stupid thing to say. Especially in a situation like this, when there’s so much Sam has apologize for. Where should he start?  _ Sorry I slept with you? Sorry I guilted and manipulated you into letting Alicia go? Sorry I was too much of a coward to make the deal to save her? Sorry that you lost the most important person in your life, again, because of me? _

The responding silence is deafening.

“Okay.” Sam says, not willing to wait any longer for a response. “I’m gonna go clean up. We’re probably gonna leave soon.” The other man remains silent, expression indiscernible. His jaw clenches, and Sam’s honestly not sure whether Max is closer to crying or punching something. If it’s the second, Sam won’t be too surprised if he’s the thing Max decides to punch.

_ What did you think would happen, Sammy? Just because his sister said he had a crush on you back when you first met, when his family was whole and happy, you thought nothing would change? You thought he’d jump into your arms and cuddle up to the thing that got his sister killed, not once but twice, just because he thought you were pretty to look at?  _ Coldness prickles throughout Sam’s body, ice seeping into his bones and filling his lungs. Sam walks over to where he left his duffel, grabbing whatever clothes are on top before walking into the bathroom, letting the door quietly shut behind him.

The second the door closes, Sam careens towards the toilet bowl. He barely gets there in time before it hits him, insides burning as whatever’s left in his stomach forces its way up and out. Arms wrap around the porcelain, even though it’s cold, too cold. Anything to fight the fire in his throat. It’s a familiar feeling, being too hot and yet frozen to the touch. He remembers all the miraculous horrors the archangels unleashed on him in the prison he’d sealed them in. The two brothers were close to equal in might, but far different in their styles: Michael’s grace seared with the fire of a thousand suns, whereas Lucifer’s was sub-zero, like the vast implacable vacuum of space. It feels like eons ago, but he can still remember how Michael would make his spit turn to lava, scorching Sam’s body from the inside out. He remembers having no option but to run into Lucifer’s loving arms - and it’s fucked, to admit that, but it’s true - and feeling his limbs freeze over as the Lightbringer draped his wings protectively over Sam.  _ I love you, Sammy, _ he would croon, stroking the hunter’s crying face.  _ I’ll protect you, my little Vessel. But you have to offer me something back. _

Sam’s not sure when he finishes, because his shoulders are still shaking, and his insides still burn, but the toilet’s filled with a sour stench that threatens to make his stomach turn again and causes his eyes and nose to sting. Still slumping facedown into the bowl, he struggles to catch his breath through his open mouth. His heart’s pounding so fast he can hear it in his ears. The pricking sensation behind Sam’s eyes forces them open. He slowly lifts his head up and away from the toilet. Everything’s blurry, his eyes stinging at the overwhelming mix of sensations. Sam only realizes he’s crying when he feels the tears running down his cheeks.  A hand flies up to his mouth, just in time to stifle the sobs that rack his body.

Alicia’s dead. Again. Probably for good this time. Sam had a chance to talk her into staying, he could’ve saved her in a heartbeat, but he froze. Just like the first time. And it’s just another fuck-up he can add to his list. Jack’s out there, terrified of himself because Sam’s a coward. His Mom’s trapped in an unreachable dimension with Lucifer, and Sam knows from experience if he and Dean somehow get her back they’ll all probably wish she’d died instead. He couldn’t even help Dean through his grief a few weeks back. He tried to make his brother happy, tried to get him to talk about what state he was in, and Dean chose to kill himself in front of Sam. Yet Cas needed to do little more than pop back into existence for Dean to be better instantly. And now he’s dumb enough to think he can help Max, a total stranger, through his grief, when he couldn’t even help the brother he’s known all his life. Which he’s doing a great  _ fucking _ job of now, sobbing alone on the bathroom floor.

So he leans back against the cool ceramic of the tub and cries. He cries for Alicia, the girl he wanted to be friends with, who deserved much better than what she got. The girl he should’ve saved. For the mom he never knew, who he probably never will get to know, who’s hopefully dead right now and not being torn apart by an archangel again, and again, and again. For Kelly, the mom who should’ve gotten to meet her own son, the one she loved unconditionally despite the fact he was forced on her. For Jack, confused and filled with self-loathing and terrified of what he is. For Max, who’s lost everyone he loves.

He cried letting Alicia go last night. It’s been the first time since he cradled his brother’s bloodied corpse a few years ago, Dean begging Sam to let him go with his last breath. Before that it was him breaking down in front of Dean, not wanting to fail him again. He can’t recall before the time before that. He doesn’t remember shedding tears for Kevin, or Charlie or Bobby. Other unmourned names come to his mind, unbidden and unwelcome – Ty, the boyfriend he stabbed through the chest without thinking. Adam. Meg.

A loud bang sends him curling up into himself, covering a second hand over the first to quiet his cries. Strong arms wrap tight around him.

“Sam!” He flinches, trying to tug himself free, but he’s just drawn into a warm embrace. Head coming to rest against Max’s chest, Sam can hear the witch’s heart beating almost as fast as his own. They’re in danger now, they have to be. Another Dryad coming back to avenge Menodice, maybe, or one of Asmodeus’ demons. They have no weapons in here, nothing to fight back with. God, he can’t breathe. His heart’s ready to jump out of his chest.

“Sam.” The voice repeats, gentler than he deserves. “Sam, breathe. You’re having a panic attack.” He can’t. He’s trying, trying to fight the pounding in his heart by breathing as slow as he can, but he’s just getting more and more lightheaded. Max hauls him to his feet, lifting his legs somewhat to step over something before following after him. One of Max’s arms pulls away, and there’s a squeaking.

The familiar coldness hits him, and he jerks away. Lucifer. Somehow he’s back from the dimension they threw him into, here to punish Sam. He’s freezing and drenched now, the archangel all around him, overwhelming him. The arms around him tighten their grip on him, but he’s desperately trying to sink to his knees. Every plea in Enochian that he can think of comes pouring out from his mouth in the same way tears pour from his eyes.  _ “Please Lucifer, punish me not Max, not him, do whatever you wish to me, be merciful. I worship you. Please forgive me.” _

The coldness ebbs away, replaced with warmth. Sam’s begging comes to a halt, and he suddenly realizes he’s drenched in warm water. Opening his eyes, he’s assaulted by an overwhelming brightness, before his vision adjusts to take in what’s happening. Max’s face is inches away from his, looking every bit terrified as Sam feels. They’re standing in the tub that’s built into the bathroom wall. The witch’s arms are a bind around him, struggling to hold him upright underneath the showerhead.

Water. Sam’s such a fucking mess right now that he actually can’t tell apart a cold shower and the Cage. Thank God Max had the brains to turn the heat up, otherwise he would’ve probably still been panicking to break free. Sam could kiss him, not that he needs an excuse if he’s being honest. Instead, he tentatively places a hand against the tiled wall, feebly attempting to steady himself.

“Sam.” It feels wrong to hear his name spoken so softly by the man whose life he’s ruined, yet again. “Sam, please. Breathe.” The water’s still beating pouring down on both men, warmth seeping into their underclothes. Sam’s heart slows down now, all the energy drained out of him. He slumps in Max’s arms, and the man lets him sink down to the floor of the shower. Now that the witch has let him go, Sam’s trying to make himself as small as possible. Up against the corner of the shower wall, his legs are pressed to his chest. The warm shower water blends with the slowing flow of tears on his face.

Max is still standing over him like a concerned parent. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask if Sam’s okay. He just stares. Like Sam might fall to pieces again if he even blinks or turns away. Which, given his lackluster mental health history, is a fair assumption. Sam reaches up to turn the shower handle back to off once he feels the water lose its warmth. The constant drone of the shower gone, the only noises left are the constant  _ drip drip drip _ of the faucet, and their breathing. And Max’s eyes are still locked on him.

* * *

 

The drive back to Lebanon is uncomfortable, to say the least. Sam can feel Max eyeing him from the driver’s seat, but he doesn’t say anything. Neither does Sam. He’s tempted to, wants so badly to ask Max how he’s feeling, what he’s thinking. Maybe even give an explanation what happened this morning. His mind might be running a mile in a minute, but each question dies on his lips as quickly as the one before it. Ultimately, Sam decides to let it be. If Max wants to say something, he’ll say it.  The last thing he needs to do is to alienate the guy further by handling him with kid gloves, or pushing him into talking when he clearly doesn’t want to.

“Making things awkward by sharing a bed and then having a breakdown” would normally be something to avoid as well, but Sam’s already screwed that one up.

_ Nice going, Sammy. You promise Alicia you’ll take care of her brother and what’s the first thing you do? Take advantage of him. You really are a monster.  _ Sam’s hand flies to the A/C dial, cranking the heat up on high.  _ Then you freak out and spend an hour losing it in the bathroom. Pathetic _

“Sam?” His eyes flit to Max. The witch is giving him a concerned look, flitting back to the road only to make sure there are no oncoming cars. “Can I ask you something?” Sam’s still so distracted that it takes a moment to react.

“Yeah, sure. Course.” He steels himself for whatever Max might ask. Most likely it’ll be whether or not they can just part ways. After all, Max has reason to doubt Sam’s mental stability (or maybe Sam’s just been avoiding the fact that he has no mental stability whatsoever), and caring for the health of the person who tore apart your family is something no one should have to sign up for.

“Would you have said yes? To the Crossroads Deal?” Sam blinks. That’s definitely not what he was expecting.

“Well, yeah.” When Max doesn’t respond, he fears he might have given him the wrong impression. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not rushing to become the King of Hell or whatever. Enough demons have tried their hand at using us as pawns for their power grabs for me to know they don’t really stand a chance. I would’ve killed Cygnus after we made the deal.” The witch contemplates his answer.

“What would you have done if you couldn’t have gotten out?” This time, Sam takes a moment to consider how the situation might’ve gone. There aren’t many options, in all honesty. If he’d been unable to overpower the Crossroads Demons, he would’ve either become a Manchurian Candidate of some kind, endure endless torture until he caved to his demands, or try ending his own life as a giant middle finger to Cygnus.

“Not many good choices, to be honest.” He admits. “I wasn’t thinking about it. I was only trying to figure out how to get out. Hopefully I would’ve died quickly.” Sam winces as soon as he says the words. There he goes again, with not having a filter. He looks back to Max, waiting to see sadness or anger, a sign that he messed up. Instead, he’s treated to another look of concern.

“Why?” Sam’s eyebrows scrunch together.

“Why what?” Max is sitting up now, golden eyes still fixated on him. His normally smooth face is marred with worry. Sam can’t help but feel like an insect under a microscope, with Max’s gaze piercing his soul. 

“Why would you throw away your life for us?” Sam didn’t throw away anything. Alicia refused to make the deal, chose death, and now he and Max are left to have one of the most uncomfortable conversations Sam’s ever had. In honesty, he really hadn’t been considering in that moment what the demon might do to him, and he’s just now realizing how stupid and impulsive that had been.

“I wasn’t thinking,” he says. Max falls silent once more, looking back to the road. They drive on in silence for a while. Sam’s itching to turn the radio up or something, but Max’s question is stuck in his head. He doesn’t ever remember acting this impulsively to save someone, even when he was running around soulless. Dean, maybe, but they’ve always been each other’s exception to the rule. They’ve never gone to the extent of a demon deal, or something even more drastic, to bring back Cas or Bobby. They’re not even going to that extreme right now, to save Mom  ~~ if there’s anything left of her to save. ~~

It’s another half an hour before Max eventually pulls into a nearly empty gas station. The sun’s already going down, they’re probably more than halfway to the Bunker by now. Opening the car door, the witch gives Sam an inscrutable look, before gesturing to the storefront.

“I’m gonna hit the bathroom and grab some stuff for the road. Want anything?” It’s a letdown, but Sam isn’t sure what else they can say to each other. Maybe Max got all he needed to know. Maybe he’s decided he just doesn’t wanna know any more. Not like Sam’s ever been the best conversation.

Max is still looking at him expectantly, and Sam realizes he hasn’t answered yet. A small shake of the head has the witch shrugging, slipping out of the car and walking into the station. The minute he disappears from sight, Sam turns his gaze to the backseat, where the motorcycle’s lying on its side.

_ Well, _ the voice chuckles.  _ We both know you’ve done stupider things. _


	8. Last Ditch Efforts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam decides to have another meeting with Cygnus.

Cygnus can’t help but cackle. “Had a change of heart, handsome?”

“Shut up.” The Crossroads demon falls silent but he still has the smirk of someone who knows they’ve already one. “Deal’s changed.”

“Mmm. I know, I’ve seen.” Cygnus gives a throaty chuckle. “Imagine my surprise when I found out you were only after one of the twins. Think bringing back your boy toy’s dead sister will get you some arse, ay?” He nods approvingly. “It’s sweet. Desperate, but sweet.”

“Can you bring Alicia back if we burned every last trace of her?” Sam asks, ignoring the taunts. The demon’s smile wavers ever so slightly, but it’s enough. “Forget it.”

“Wait, wait. Let’s not be rash.” The demon raises his hands pleadingly. Sam huffs and folds his arms against his chest, waiting expectantly for him to continue. “I may be powerful, but bringing back a person with no physical ties to the Earth is not something I can do. Most demons can’t.”

“So you can’t help me.”  _ Should’ve made the choice when you had the chance, Sammy. _

“I said that  _ I _ can’t bring her back.” Cygnus repeats, lowering one hand and pointing the other towards Sam. “But you could.” He falls silent, a wide grin on his face. After a beat, Sam snorts and rolls his eyes.

“If I could, I wouldn’t be here right now asking you to.” The demon gives him a disgusted look.

“Not now, obviously, you idiot.” Cygnus scowls. “Christ, Winchester, I thought you were smart. How the hell did you make it into Stanford?” His shoulders loosen, as he forces himself to relax. “What I  _ meant _ was, you could bring your little friend back if you were King.”

“How do you mean?” In the corner of his mind, Sam’s fully aware that the Crossroads Demon is trying to trap him before he can back out of the deal. But that’s what he’s made for – he’s selling a deal, and frankly, he’s selling it well. Cygnus looks at him in disappointment.

“You know, you’re not doing a good job of convincing me that you’d be a wise king. Come on, you’re a smart cookie, do the math yourself. Demons are nothing if not resourceful, and while one might not be able to bring your boyfriend’s sister back, if all of Hell was ordered to? It’d be carried out within the hour. You might even be able to do it yourself.” Sam scoffs in disbelief, which has Cygnus tossing his hands up in sheer frustration. “Oh, Christ. Every demon deal gets its power from the soul offered in the contract. Hell and Heaven are nothing  _ but _ souls, endless seas of them stacked one atop the other. Why do you think demons and angels farther up in the hierarchy have more strength? They draw their power from the billions of souls under their dominion. Grab Hell’s throne, you have all of that for the taking, and every demon at your command. To do whatever you want.”

“So, I could bring back Alicia.” Sam already knows the answer is still no. He wants to take it, desperately. He wishes he could go back in time to yesterday and take the deal then. Yesterday, it was just a matter of duping a crossroads demon. Becoming the King of Hell is another thing entirely. Sam might be stupid, but not enough to make the same mistake twice and lose whatever little humanity he has left. Not for Alicia, and not for Max.

“More than that,” the demon says with a grin. “You can find that kid everyone’s out for.” He cackles at Sam’s dumbstruck expression. “Don’t act all surprised. The Nephilim, right? Lucifer’s son? You’re not the only one with an Amber Alert out for him. Asmodeus and Heaven want to find him too. The only difference is they have the resources to. Unseating Asmodeus makes you the person in charge of Hell’s search for him, and the difference is that the kid might actually  _ want _ to be found by you. Once you have him, you pretty much rule over everything. A power of that magnitude, loyal to only you. You can rule Heaven  _ and _ Hell. You can probably get your Mum back as well, and you might not even need the Nephilim’s help to open a portal, if you put enough demons to work. Get rid of Ol’ Luci, too, while you’re at it. You’d never have to hear from him again.”

Sam feels his breath stop short. Jack. He can find Jack and get Mom back. Give Max the sister Sam took from him, to top it off. None of them might forgive him. Sam’s fine with that, he deserves it. But if he just fixes everything, sets things right, it won’t matter. It’ll have been worth it.

“So, do we have a deal?” Cygnus’ arms are folded across his chest, and his foot taps an impatient rhythm. He’s done making his sales pitch.

Sam’s decided as well.

He closes the gap between him and the Crossroads demon, eyes locked on his vessel. It’s off-putting how much the demon’s meat suit resembles Max, but Sam supposes he  _ does _ have a type. The vessel of the last Crossroads demon he summoned had been young, handsome and black as well, but Cygnus’ vessel could practically be Max’s twin (and isn’t that a sick joke?) His stomach turns; it’s appalling to be thinking of Max when he’s about to kiss a demon. Especially when the demon’s using the body of a man who can’t consent to Sam. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth at the thought, considering how much the man resembles the witch Sam’s so deeply attracted to. But at this point, he’d be more surprised for any kind of “romantic” love in his life to not have at least some perversion or twistedness to it.

The demon’s rosy lips purse, an indication that he’s ready to make the deal when Sam is. Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes and leans in.  _ Sorry, Dean. Sorry, Max. _

A loud honking and the harsh screech of tires behind Sam force his eyes open. The bright headlights of the Jeep are blinding, forcing him to lift an arm to shield his eyes from the glare. The driver door slams shut and Max comes bounding forward, eyes violet and nostrils flaring.

“What the hell are you doing?” He demands, looking from Sam to the demon. Cygnus rolls his eyes.

“Again with the interruptions. What does it look like he’s doing? He’s getting your sister back.” The witch turns back to Sam, looking even angrier if possible.

“You’re kidding, right?” When Sam looks away, Max scoffs. “Alicia didn’t want this, Sam – not at the risk of your life. Or was all that talk about ‘the choice being hers’ just you talking out of your ass.”

“Max.” Sam sighs, trying to plea with the younger hunter. “Look, this is my decision, okay? And it’s not just for Alicia. I have family I’m trying to get back, too – ”

“And, what, you think they’d want you giving up your life for theirs?”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, he’s not giving up his life.” Cygnus groans. “Look, you two can have this lovers’ spat on your own time. I’m a busy man, got things to do. So do we have a deal or not?”

Sam says “give us a sec” at exactly the same time as Max says “fuck off”, causing them to look irritatedly at each other. The demon places his face in his hands, making another sound of annoyance.

“I need to get my mom back.” Sam insists, gently squeezing Max’s hands in his own. “You can tell Dean what happened if everything goes to shit, but I need to help my mom. And this might be the only chance I have to.” The witch’s fiery anger dulls.

“Look, Sam,” he says. “I don’t pretend to know what’s happening with your Mom, or where she is, but I know that if anyone can find her, without a demon’s help, it’s you.” Behind them, the demon cackles. 

“Oh, Sammy knows where Mumsie is. It’s just the issue of who’s with her.” Cygnus shoots Sam a hideous leer. “Try saving her on your own. I’m sure Luci would love nothing more than to remind you who you belong to.” Sam shudders, the heat draining from his body.

“What the hell does that mean?” Max asks, frowning. The demon’s eyes light up like a child’s.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” He asks, snickering. “Sammy here was possessed by Lucifer himself. He wanted to stop the apocalypse, and to do it he threw himself into the deepest, darkest pit in hell, taking Luci and his older brother with him.” Cygnus laughs. “Believe me, nothing says holy wrath like being stuck between two archangels.” Sam can feel Max’s eyes on him, and God he wishes the witch would look anywhere else. “Made you their little bitch, didn’t they? Don’t worry, it’s not a secret in hell. Everyone knows that Lucifer took what he wanted, and Mikey wasn’t too shy either.” Cygnus turns to Max. “Did you know that, handsome? That you’re getting the devil’s sloppy seconds?”

Sam closes his eyes, heart slowly sinking in his chest. Max knows. He knows how damaged he is now. The secret he’s never admitted to, never even told Dean, is out in the open. Cygnus gives another laugh.

“So, still think you can take Lucifer alone?” He asks. Sam’s head is still in his hands, forcing himself to stay calm. He wants nothing more than for Max to leave, because maybe it’s weakness but he doesn’t want those golden eyes watching as he makes a deal to damn his own humanity. But right now Sam can’t even say he’s ready, the shame and coldness from remembering what Lucifer did overwhelming him.

“Leave.” The word’s spoken softly, but the layers upon layers of anger inflected in it are loud in Sam’s ears. His eyes snap open. Max glares at the demon, jaw clenched in an effort to stay calm. “Leave before I make you wish you had.” Cygnus sneers, opening his mouth to undoubtedly say something slick. The witch’s eyes glow violet once more, and a wave of his hand has the demon screaming and rooted to the spot. The spell lifts, and Cygnus is panting slightly. One hand clutching his chest, he looks at Max in murderous rage. The witch’s eyes have reverted back to their amber, but they still carry that silent anger. “I told you. Deal’s off. Leave.” The demon straightens his vessel upward, fixing his suit. Evidently he’s decided that he doesn’t want to challenge Max. He gives Sam a final glance, face filled with contempt and disgust.

“I could’ve helped you.” He’s gone in a blink. And Sam and Max are alone. With no Mary, no Jack, and no Alicia

“Sam.”  _ Don’t look,  _ he thinks. _ Don’t you dare look at him, when you were jumping up to become Hell’s King just a minute before. _ “Sam, you can’t ignore me. What the hell were you thinking?” Sam finally turns to him, and an even stronger wave of shame hits him. His eyes sting as he blinks back tears, looking away from the witch.

“I just…” Sam’s voice cracks. “I just wanted to fix this.”

“Sam, I get it. Okay? Believe me I get it  – ”

“No, you don’t.” He cuts Max off, more tears slipping free. “I tried so hard to make this better. I just needed to fix something. My Mom’s gone, and I pray every day that she’s finally dead, because if she isn’t it means that Lucifer’s doing God knows what to her. And I thought I could help Jack, and that’s a bust because I pushed him away because I was too fucking terrified of him. And now he’s off running away because I made him scared of himself.” He isn’t sure Max understands all of what he’s talking about, because it’s mostly coming out in jumbles, but he can’t stop. “I needed something to fix. And I needed to fix this, because I screwed up with you and Alicia and you deserved to be happy.” Max doesn’t speak for awhile. Sam’s fighting to get under control, because he feels like ice is running up and down his body, inside and out. A hand comes to rest on his shoulder, and he looks to see Max giving a gentle smile.   
“Look, I don’t understand what’s happening with your mom, or this Jack friend of yours. But I know that if anyone can fix it, it’s you.” Sam frowns, ready to interject when Max cuts him off. “And Alicia  –  I can learn to live without her. People don’t live forever. She’d want me to learn to be happy on my own.” He sighs, running a hand over his head. “She died in Rock River. I couldn’t admit it before, but it’s the truth. And now she’s moved on, so I’ll have to learn it too. But you helped us, more than you know. And you don’t have to do this alone.” Sam blinks, looking up at him in confusion. Smiling softly, Max extends a hand. “I can help you, if you’re willing to help me. What do you say?”

It’s not what he expected at all. That Max would still want to be around him after everything was far outside of his wildest dreams. But here the witch is, not only staying but offering to help Sam find Jack and Mary. Subconsciously, he pushes at the faded scar on his palm, just to make sure. Nothing changes. The young man is still in front of him, hand outstretched and with a kind smile on his face.

He takes Max’s hand.


	9. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Max make their way to the Bunker. Certain things come to light.

They’re back at the bunker by 11. The car ride’s been awkward, to say the least. Granted, it wasn’t as bad as before Sam hightailed it trying to make an idiotic last-minute Crossroads deal, but it’s still uncomfortable. Max’s hesitation is palpable, even as Sam pulls into the garage. After he turns the ignition off, they get out of the car and loitering about beside it. Sam looks over to see the younger hunter’s arms clenched tightly over his chest.

“You don’t have to go in.” Max arches an eyebrow at the non-sequitur. “I won’t make you go in there if you’re not ready. We can go somewhere else if you’d like.”

“Somewhere else might be better.” The witch muses. “Don’t want you to spend the night having to save me from getting murdered.” Sam frowns.

“No one in there wants to hurt you, Max.” He says, gazing intently at the witch. “These are people who know and like you.”

“They’re hunters.” Max says pointedly, staring down at his feet.

“So are you.” Sam counters. Max snorts again.

“I’m a witch first, Sam. These things usually don’t mix. Even Asa kept us at a distance, because he couldn’t guarantee Mom’s or my safety around his friends. Most hunters don’t even tolerate a good witch, you know that.” It takes a moment to realize what Max is insinuating. His mouth opens to counter the younger man’s argument, but the witch speaks before he can. “I used dark magic, Sam. I did. I was in denial about it, thought it was for the right reasons, but you know it, Alicia knew it, and I can admit it now. That wasn’t a minor curse, it was violating the natural order and maintaining life in the grossest way possible. Most hunters would mount my head up on a wall for that.”

Sam doesn’t try to argue with him. Even with how much hunting’s changed, he can still remember people like Gordon and Kubrick, and his dad. Hell, even Dean flits back and forth from time to time on whether they’re supposed to kill a monster or leave it alone. And yeah, his brother might’ve said that he was fine with Max coming to the Bunker, but he also told Sam that he’d leave Amy alone, and that lasted only until Sam was looking the other way.

“Well, I want you here,” he declares, patting Max’s shoulder. “And we don’t have to stay if you’re not comfortable. It’s whatever you want.” The witch’s golden eyes narrow, glancing down at where Sam’s hand rests on his shoulder before turning back to face him.

“Well. I might have a few reasons.” Max says, coyly smiling. Sam gives a light huff of laughter, a smile tugging at his lips. Still, his hand slides away from the witch’s shoulder. There’s always dangers in assumptions, and even if he’s pleasantly surprised, Sam still has his mind made up.

“Really? And what might those be?” He’ll let Max keep the flirting, though. Because if that’s what he needs to distract himself from thinking about Alicia right now, then it’s a hell of a better coping mechanism than demon blood. And maybe, just maybe, a more selfish side of Sam likes the attention, genuine or not.

“Well, one reason in particular.” Goddamn, that smile is going to be the death of him. Max’s honey eyes rake up and down his body. “You might know him. Bout 6 and half feet, yankable hair, dreamy eyes, temperament of a puppy, can’t flirt for shit.”

“Hey, I’m not  _ that _ terrible at it.” Sam protests, fighting back a laugh. It’s such a 180 from where they were not an hour ago, it’s frankly bizarre. Mood swings – the one reliable thing about mourning. The witch’s smile shrinks ever so slightly. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s just,” Max sighs. “It’s bad that I’m enjoying this. I know Alicia’s really been gone for a while, but I technically lost her yesterday too, and it’s wrong to be flirting. But I  _ am _ enjoying it. And I want more.” Sam looks a little confused, and Max clarifies. “I haven’t been with any guys at all in the last few months. I used to have hookups in every town, but after Rock River, I was too busy worried about protecting Alicia. And hiding the truth from her. I miss that, and even though I wish she was here, I kind of want to get back to that again.” Sam swallows, starting to see what Max is asking for..

“Max..” He says, silently praying he’s wrong. It’s almost too good to hope for. “I… we can’t.” Not because he doesn’t want to. In another situation, Sam probably would be beyond ready. Despite what he says, however, Max is in no state emotionally to consent. Not really.  _ There’s also the teeny little fact that you haven’t been with a man since me, buddy _ .  _ Or anyone at all since Bevell broke into your mind, for that matter. _

“Hey.” Sam’s eyes snap back to Max. Concern’s etched into the younger man’s face. Sam flinches reflexively as Max raises a hand, but manages to master his expresion when the witch tentatively brushes his cheek. “I’m not trying to get you into bed, Sam. I want to, obviously, I’d be stupid not to when you look the way you do.” His face heats up under the witch’s touch. “But I know you’re not ready for that, and it’s okay. I’m more than okay if you’re never ready.” The tension starts to fade from Sam, and his body relaxes. Max draws closer. “I like you. I care about you, a lot. And I want to get to know you more.”

“You’ll change your mind.” Sam blurts out. When Max starts to argue, he cuts him off. “I want to get to know you more, too, Max. I do. But you heard yourself that I’m used goods. You have your own baggage, you don’t need to be dealing with mine on top of it. You barely know me.”

“I know you saved the world a couple times,” the witch says, amber eyes not looking away for even a second. “And you don’t really know me either. That didn’t stop you from trying to help me find Mom. It didn’t stop you from risking everything to make that Crossroads deal to bring Alicia back, twice, just so we would both be happy.” Sam opens his mouth to argue, but strong arms wrap around his middle, pulling the two of them closer together.

“Max...” He doesn’t pull away. The witch’s body gives off a heat like the sun, and Sam sinks into the embrace. Slowly, he drapes his arms over the other man’s shoulders, their foreheads pressing together. “I’m not worth it.”

“Not what I’m seeing.” Max says, running a hand through Sam’s hair. He bites back a moan as the witch’s nails graze his scalp. His face heats up, but Max only continues smiling. “I’d love it if you let me show you.”

The distance between them shrinks more and more. Sam takes in every detail of the younger hunter’s face – the angles of his jaw and cheekbones, his plump pink lips, even the flecks of green in his endless golden eyes. He can feel Max’s gentle breathing, the warm air brushing on his mouth.

Slowly, all space between them vanishes, as their mouths join together.

* * *

Sam hasn’t called him since this afternoon, and Dean’s currently fighting the urge to hop in the Impala and scour every square inch between here and Cedar Rapids until he finds his little brother. He’s already gone through about half a bottle of Stoli to fight said urge. That’s a big mistake, because Dean normally would never touch the stuff over his whiskey. He’s starting to realize why, his mind flashing between horrifying images of Sam lying bloody and still, or being reanimated into a twig doll. He tries to drown these out with the much more satisfying thought of tearing Max into pieces if the witch has laid a hand on Sam.

“Dean,” A hand rests on his shoulder, and he looks up to see a concerned Jody. “Sam’s fine. He said he’d be here soon enough. You should trust him on that.”

“It’s not him I don’t trust, Jody.” Dean grunts. Knocking back his glass, he coughs a little at the sting of Vodka running down his throat. Donna’s nursing a beer and openly staring at him with concern a table away, and even though Claire and Alex are pretending to scroll through their phones, the man can feel their eyes on him as well. Dean exhales slowly, covering his face in his hands. “Sam’s been real bad lately, emotionally. I know he was trying to hide it, cause he thought he needed to be the strong one for me or whatever. But between losing Mom again, and now the kid leaving….” He trails off, vision suddenly blurry. Sam’s always been the optimistic one. He assumes the best of people, even those who don’t deserve it, and Dean knows he really got along well with the twins. Gigantic idiot probably blamed himself for Alicia dying, even though he never said as much to Dean.

“Max had a thousand chances to hurt him, Dean, and hasn’t taken one yet.” Jody says, squeezing his shoulder. “If what Sam said is true, then he’s alone in the world right now and your brother might be the only person he’s comfortable around.” Claire’s comment from last night unbidden pops into his mind. Dean can’t exactly remember how Max had interacted with Sam the last two times they met. Sam spent most of Asa’s funeral talking to the twins, and there wasn’t much time for any chitchat at Rock River, but he doesn’t remember the witch showing any interest in his brother. Not that Dean’s some expert on gay people – far from it. But he hopes that if Max  _ is _ putting his faith in Sam, it’s not because of some crush. He doesn’t want the kid getting his hopes up, only for them to be trampled. Even if his little brother didn’t live like a monk, there’s no way he could be into Max.

A loud bang makes him jerk out of his seat. The entrance to the bunker’s wide open, two blurs tumbling down the stairs. The vodka’s left him a little disoriented, but he can make out Sam’s mop of hair. By the time Dean regains his focus, he has a very clear sight in front of him. Max Banes pinning his little brother to the wall, both of them sweaty and struggling to breathe.

Every cell in his body shifting into attack mode, blood boiling with rage. His chair falls backward as he storms down toward his brother, completely unarmed and ready to tear his attacker to pieces. Sam’s head is yanked back, his neck exposed. Max’s mouth flies to it, Sam’s gasp confirming that the witch has bitten him. Dean’s halfway down the library stairs when a groan escapes his brother’s lips. He goes completely still; that’s definitely not a cry of pain.

Sam pulls Max off his neck with a tug, his hand wrapped around the man’s head. There’s a silent pause, where the only noise is the two men’s panting, before Sam smashes their lips together.

Dean’s frozen where he stands. His brain can’t process the sight in front of him, of his awkward little brother and the very  _ male _ hunter he’s making out with. Max’s hands slide up Sam’s shirt, exposing his chest. Sam gives another moan as he loses his shirt, responding in kind by ripping Max’s off his shoulders. Dean’s mind is screaming for him to look away, but still he’s too dumbstruck to move. By some miracle, Max and Sam disappear further into the bunker before they lose any more clothes, still locked in each other’s arms and violently kissing.

Shaken, Dean turns back to the library, and its four occupants. He’s glad to see he’s not the only one who’s shocked. Jody’s eyes are wide, cheeks slightly pink. Donna’s red as a tomato, looking pointedly at her beer. Claire and Alex both stare at the space of the bunker Sam and Max have disappeared into with approval on their faces. Making his way over to where he’d been sitting, Dean pulls the knocked over chair upright. As he sits down, Jody silently offers him the glass of Stoli he hasn’t finished.

Passing over the glass, Dean instead grabs the bottle on the table by the neck.  _ God, I hope Vallens is willing to do therapy over Skype _ , he thinks as he takes a long swig.  _ Cause there’s not enough alcohol in the world to get that image out of my head.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bow-chicka-wow-wow


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An awkward morning for the Bunker. Sam comes clean to Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHMIGOD!
> 
> IT'S FINALLY OVER.
> 
> I'VE NEVER FINISHED A LONG-FIC BEFORE.
> 
> Once again, thanks to EruthiawenLuin, librarianknight, and unforgvnsam. Thanks as well to anyone who's read this. I promise I'll get back to my two other fics, but I've been working on this for months because the Banes deserve closure.

By the time Sam stumbles out of his room the next day, it’s already 3 in the afternoon. Max is still curled up on his bed like a cat, without a stitch of clothing on. True to his word, the witch let Sam set the pace the night before. When they made their way to his room, the younger man kicked off the last of his clothes. Sam had spent an embarrassingly long amount of time staring in naked admiration (pun  _ fully _ intended) at the other man’s body before he remembered why Max had stripped down in the first place.

“I don’t mind you looking, sexy.” His lover (and damn, does it feel good to say that) had cooed, kissing his red cheeks. “As long as you’re comfortable with me like this.” Sam had been more than okay with it, though not with reciprocating. And by some bizarre act of fate, Max hadn’t been even slightly upset. He’d politely looked away as Sam switched his jeans for sweatpants, and laid him on his back on the bed when he was ready.

They didn’t have full-blown sex, of course. Sam knows he still isn’t ready for that, not with the unaddressed stuff leftover from Toni, and Lucifer. Max had managed to work around it. Lavishing his upper body with attention and worship, constantly asking him “Is this okay?”.

Sam blushes unreasonably just thinking about it. He isn’t used to the one-night stands that come with the life expressing that kind of tenderness, why would they? It’s a little ridiculous to treat a 6 foot 4 fully-grown man like something delicate and breakable. It’s even more ridiculous for Sam to want it. But Max had spent the night going at a slow pace, constantly checking that Sam was enjoying himself

As bustling noises drift from the kitchen, Sam suddenly comes to a horrifying realization. It’s not like he hasn’t noticed how good the Bunker’s acoustics are – they’ve come in handy the times it’s been invaded, allowing Sam or Dean to shout for help and know the sound will travel throughout the halls. But the potential drawbacks have never occurred to him before. Obviously, it was something that didn’t need to be considered when building the bunker – safety was the objective, and the Men of Letters at the time personified white male Christendom. Why consider sex between the bunker’s possible inhabitants, when they would all be (presumably) heterosexual men, save Henry’s friend Josie. It wasn’t like there would be protocol for one-night stands, either. The Men of Letters couldn’t exactly bring girls from Lebanon to a nearby hidden underground facility.

Entering the kitchen, Sam’s fear is almost immediately confirmed. He and Max hadn’t been anywhere close to quiet last night, and the noise had carried throughout the bunker so that every last occupant could hear them. Jody, Claire and Alex shoot grins at him from the table that are so close to identical he privately wonders if the girls are biologically related to Jody in some way. Donna’s also at the table, but her face as red as Sam’s feels right now and she refuses to meet Sam’s eyes. Dean’s at the grill, making what looks like burgers for lunch. He glances up as Sam enters, before turning back to his work.

Fighting the blush rising in his cheeks, Sam makes his way over to the coffee maker. There’s enough left for a single cup, providing enough excuse for Sam to pour his drink and hightail it back to his room, or the library, or the shower, or anywhere else besides here where everyone’s staring at him. He’s all too aware of how he must look to them. His hair still has that mussed-up sex look, despite his best efforts to smooth it down. The gray sweater he’s wearing doesn’t hide the hickeys littered across his neck, but considering how many more Max left on his chest and waist, Sam feels it’s doing a damn good job covering him up.

The sound of a throat clearing makes him turn around to see Dean’s eyes on him. Wordlessly, he walks over to Sam. His expression is unreadable. Sam normally has no trouble assessing out his brother’s mood, and vice versa; they both know each other’s tells, the inevitable result of interacting with almost no one else for their whole lives. But Sam can’t figure out what Dean’s thinking right now, and it’s making him nervous. His brother’s reaction to him and Max is the only one he’s really worried about right now. Even before he walked into the kitchen, he knew Jody and Donna would be happy, if not traumatized by his and Max’s display from last night, and Claire and Alex could probably care less about his dating life. But Dean hates when secrets are kept from him, and this is one he’d been keeping secret for a good thirteen years before he decided to out himself last night.

“It’s about damn time.” Blinking, Sam looks to Dean. To his shock, his brother is openly smirking at him. “Honestly, congratulations, man. What’s it been,  _ years _ since you last got laid?” The surprise evaporates, quickly giving way to annoyance.

“Dean,” Sam says, his raised finger and tone both advising his brother against saying anything gross or inappropriate. The older hunter holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Hey, Sammy, I can’t help it if I’m proud of you. You must’ve slept the whole day away. Normally that’s my job.” He chuckles, elbowing Sam’s side. “Is that the real reason you slept so late yesterday, too? Getting nailed two nights in a row – that’s really impressive. For you, I mean.”

“Dude, I swear to God –”

“Funny, you were doing a lot of that last night, too.”  Sam groans, hiding his face in his hands. Dean pats him on the back and gives another chuckle. There’s a brief pause, and Sam looks up to see Dean’s smile waver. “So, when did you first….?”

“Stanford. Freshman year.” Sam doesn’t need to make Dean suffer formulating his question. Sam can tell he’s done joking, ready to be the caring older brother now.

“That guy. Your friend, Brady.” So, Dean has suspected it, to an extent. Or maybe he’s just now connecting the dots that never seemed to make sense, when he didn’t have the full picture. Sam nods.

“He wasn’t the first, but yeah.” There’s another, much longer silence. Looking up, he can see the hurt flash in Dean’s eyes, before the older Winchester masters his expression back into a wide grin. “Hey, it wasn’t…. it’s not because I didn’t trust you or anything. It just never seemed like the right time, you know?” Slowly, a genuine smile plays up on his brother’s lips. Sam finally relaxes. “Is this gonna be okay with you?”

“Dude, I’m not big enough of an asshole to be mad that my little brother is with a guy.” Dean snorts. Sam rolls his eyes, giving an exasperated huff.

“ _ Not _ what I meant, Dean.” He says, running a hand through his hair. Dean shrugs, his annoying smile not showing any signs of fading.

“As long as you use protection and give me the heads up so I can put in some noise-canceling headphones, you kids have as much fun as you want.” Sam mentally considers the drawbacks of living in the same space as both his brother and boyfriend, as he fights the urge to cuss said brother out, but Dean quickly cuts him off with a chuckle. “Relax, I’m only busting your chops.” Sam gives him a dirty look, which only makes him chuckle once more. “Seriously, man. If you’re happy, I don’t care.”

A sharp cough has Sam and Dean both looking up. From the doorway, Max gives the two brothers a tired but amused smile.

Unlike Sam, he seems to have forgotten his shirt. Not, of course, that Sam’s complaining. The witch’s golden skin has quite a few marks of its own, little bruises on the endless muscles of his arms, chest and stomach that Sam had left last night. 

Max makes his way over to the two of them, nodding politely at the four women seated around the table. An arm suddenly wraps around Sam’s waist like a python, tugging him closer to Max. The witch’s head comes to rest on the back of his shoulder, and he lets out a gentle sigh as he sinks against Sam.

“You okay?”  Sam’s vaguely aware the other occupants of the room are looking on in interest, but his main concern at the moment is the exhaustion in Max’s face. He feels a gentle nudging where the man’s head rests on his shoulder, most likely a nod. Sam escapes from Max’s grip, turning so that they’re face to face, before he pulls the witch in towards him. The younger hunter  _ (His boyfriend? Lover?) _ hides his face in Sam’s chest. “Hey.” Sam slowly lifts the younger man’s chin up, meeting his gaze. Max’s expression is forcibly nonchalant, but Sam can see those gold and green eyes shimmering.

“It was quiet.” Max whispers, warm arms giving a tight squeeze. The comment throws him at first, but Sam eventually hears the unspoken thing beneath it.  _ There wasn’t a heartbeat. _

“I’m sorry,” he whispers back, ignoring the others looking at the two of them. “I didn’t wanna wake you.” Max doesn’t respond, just presses in more against him. Bringing a hand to the witch’s back, Sam rubs slow circles into the bared skin. “We can go back, if you want. You don’t have to do anything outside the room. Just tell me.” Sam’ll try researching from his bed, but if it doesn’t work out Dean and Jody can take the wheel in locating Jack for today.

Max nods again, tugging him down by the neck for a kiss. In his peripheral, Sam sees Dean pointedly looking away. With the feel of Max’s lips against his, the brush of his stubbly jaw, and his tongue entering his mouth, Sam can’t bring himself to be embarrassed. By the time his boyfriend pulls away, Sam’s heart is racing slightly, the fatigue from oversleeping gone.

The others aren’t disappointed to see him and Max gone so quickly. Even Jody seems to be steering them out of the kitchen, probably afraid if she doesn’t they’ll have sex right there on the table. Dean shoves a tray of freshly brewed coffee and toast into their arms, stammering about “using protection” and “keeping the noise down” as he half-shoves them out the door. When they get back to his room, though, Max just clings onto Sam.

“Do you mind if we just...?” Sam has to resist a sigh of relief. Because as much as that kiss got his blood running (to one particular area further down, embarrassingly enough), he doesn’t feel ready. Sam would lie in a heartbeat if it’s what Max wanted, what he needed, even if it was breaking his promise to set the pace. But Max isn’t really in the state of mind either, and there shouldn’t be a need for the two of them to rush into things.

“Sure.” And Sam’s suddenly pushed down onto the bed, Max falling on top of him. “Hey, Max?” Those amber eyes are back on him, wide and innocent. He almost forgets the question he’s about to ask. “You can talk about her, if you want.” It sounds so jumbled coming out of his mouth, he can’t blame Max for looking a little confused. “It’s okay to miss her.” Recognition dawns in the witch’s eyes, as he curls closer to Sam’s chest.

After a brief pause, Max fills the silence. He talks about what it was like growing up with Alicia and the stuff they used to pull on their poor Mom. Sam starts stroking Max’s head halfway through some story of how in 9 th grade, he used his magic to make the hair of some asshole ex-boyfriend of Alicia’s fall out, and how their Mom had almost tanned his ass but it was worth it to see the douchebag suffer. Apparently it made Alicia laugh.

“Sam?” He looks at Max, concerned by the sudden halt. The witch’s eyes are watery, about to overflow, and he gives a small smile. “Thanks.” Max’s lips press against his, and Sam feels the remaining tension ebb from the other man’s body. Max curls up even closer, if possible, and resumes his story.

Sam knows that this is a distraction, at best. It won’t bring back Alicia, or Jack, or either of their Moms, and it won’t solve the issues they face with Heaven on one side and Asmodeus on the other. It’s not even a quick remedy for Max’s grief, or Sam’s trauma. And yet sitting curled up in bed together, sharing toast and coffee, stories and warmth, is enough comfort for the two of them right now. There’s the underlying promise that things will be better in time. It’s stupid for Sam to believe in that stuff, given how unstable his life’s been so far. But as Max slowly falls asleep, his body burning like the sun, for what feels like the first time in a while Sam’s filled with hope.


End file.
